

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


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79 25 as. 



Copyr}o:ht, 1883, 11 1 QQA StibscripUcn Price 

by Harper dc Brothrr 9 uU^ll* A > lOoO per Year, 5? Numbers, |15 


Eotered at tbe Post-Office at New York, as Second-class ^[mI Matter 



By JOHN STKANGE WINTER 

AUTHOR OF “cavalry LIFE ” “ MIGNON ; OR, BOOTLKS’ BABY ” “HOCP-La” 

“a man of honor” “in quarters” “army society” etc. 


Books yon may hold readily in your hand are the most useful, after all 

Dr. Johnson 




NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

1886 


' HARPER’S HANDY SERIES. 

Latest Issues. 

No. CKXTS. 

46. Tiresias, and Other Poems. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 25 

47. Last Bays at Apswich. A Novel 25 

48. Cabin and Gondola. By Charlotte Dunning 30 

49. Lester’s' Secret. A Novel. By Mary Cecil Hay. 30 

50. A Man of Honor. A Novel. By J. S. Winter. Illustrated ... 25 

51. Stories of Provence. From the French of Alphonse Daudet. 


52. ’Twixt Love and Duty. A Novel. By Tighe Hopkins 25 

63. A Plea for the Constitution, &c. By George Bancroft 25 

64. Fortune's Wheel. A Novel. By Alex. Innes Shand.. 25 

55. Lord Beaconsfield’s Correspondence with his Sister — 

1832-1852 ' 25 

66. Mauleverer’s Millions. A Yorkshire Romance. ByT. Wemyss 

Reid 25 

57. What Doss 'History Teach? Two Edinburgh Lectures. By 

John Stuart Blackie 25 

68. The Last OF fiiE Mac Allisters. A Novel. By Mrs. Amelia E. Barr. 26 

69. Cavalry Life. Sketches and Stories. By J. S. Winter 25 

60. Move.ments of Religious Thought in Britain during the Nine- 

teenth Century. By John Tulloch, D.D., LL.D 25 

61. IIuRRiSH : A Study. By the Hon. Emily Lawless 25 

62. Irish History FOR E.NGLisn Readers. By Wm. Stephenson Gregg. 25 

63. Our Sensation Novel. By Justin II. McCarthy 25 

64. In Shallow Waters. A Novel. By Annie Armitt 25 

65. Tulip Place. A Story of New York. By Virginia W. Johnson. 25 

66. With the King at O.xford. A Tale of the Great Rebellion. 

By Rev. Alfred J. Church, M.A 25 

67. Sea -Life Sixty Years Ago. By Captain George Bayly 25 

68. Doom! An Atlantic Episode. By Justin H. McCarthy 25 

69. The Choice of Books. By Frederic Harrison 25 

70. Aunt Rachel. A Novel. By D. Christie Murnay 25 

71. Goethe’s Faust. Translated by John Anster, LL.D 25 

72. The Evil Genius. A Novel. By Wilkie Collins 25 

73. The Absentee. An Irish Story. By Maria Edgeworth 25 

74. If Love be Love. A Forest Idyl. By D. Cecil Gibbs 25 

76. French and German Socialism in Modern Times. By Richard 

T. Ely, Ph.D 25 

76. King Arthur. Not a Love Story. By Miss Mulock 25 

77. The Head Station. A Story of Australian Life. By Mrs. Camp- 

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79. Pluck. A Novel. By J. S. Winter 25 

Other volumes ill preparation. 


tEf ' Harpeb & Bkothkhs wM send any ofihe above, works by mail, postaye pre- 
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PLUCK 


CHAPTER I. 

“hurry no man’s cattle!” 

“Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that, 

And manage it against despairing thoughts.” 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

“Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light; 

Large desires, with most uncertain issues. 

Tender wishes, blossoming at night.” 

Flowers. 

“ The fact is,” said Lncy, in his most confiden- 
tial tones, to a group of liis brotlier-oflicers who 
were gathered round the open window of the ante- 
room in Idleminster Ban-acks — “ the fact is\ I 
nev-ah was in love with but one lady in all my 
life, and she jilt-ed me. Her name was Naomi — ” 

But here he was interrupted by the laughter of 
several, and the vigorous remonstrance of one of 
his hearers : that one was Miles. 

“Now, look here, Lucy; it won’t do. Why 


PLUCK. 


can’t you let the Keverend Solomon rest in his 
grave ?” 

“Wrest in his gwrave!” repeated Lucy, with a 
wise air of surprise. “ Why, I didn’t — er — know 
anything had happened to his wreverence.” 

Another burst of laughter followed this simple 
remark : whether at its very simplicity, or wheth- 
er at the disgusted look on Miles’s face, would be 
hard to say : perhaps partly from both causes. 

“ Oh !” Lucy went blandly on, seeing that the 
Keverend Solomon, who had succeeded him in 
the affections of 'Naomi, was evidently still in the 
flesh, “ you are speaking figuratively, eh ? Ah ! 
bad thing to do, that. I uev-ah do it. As I said, 
she jilt-ed me. Ah ! she was wreally the only 
lady I ev-ah wished to marwry. I nev-ah alto- 
gether got over it.” 

“ I’m afraid you never will, Lucy,” put in Hark- 
ness, dryly. 

“ Pewrhaps not,” with a resigned air. “ Still, 
thewre’s no saying. Time heals all wounds, they 
say; and by the time Mignon is old enough to 
marwry me — ” 

“Ohl then you’re going to marry Mignon?” 
laughed Hartog. . J 

“ If she will have me,” returned Captain Lucy, 


HURRY NO man’s CATTLE 1' 


3 


with the utmost gravity. “ Pewrhaps she won’t ; 
things of the gender feminine are so given to 
change of mind. Naomi, my first love, changed 
hers. Mignon says now that she will nev-ah mar- 
wry anybody but her devoted Lai; but when 
Mignon gwrows up, and she sees that her Lai is 
getting middle-aged, stout — although that is a ca- 
lamity which, let us hope, will not fall upon me 
— bald — an affliction which, let us pwray, the de- 
cwrees of Pwrovidence may long forefend — deaf 
— a state of things fwrom which Heaven long 
pwrotect me (deaf people are such a bore) — why, 
then Mignon may forget — or, worse still, wrepent 
— the wresolves and pwromises of her childhood, 
and go for some fellow who at this moment is 
fiouwrishing about the world in an Eton jacket 
and a turn-down collar. It is the way of the 
world, and so the world wruns away.” 

“ Well, you know, Lucy,” put in Hartog, “ you 
would make mther an old sort of husband for 
Miss Mignon.” 

“ I should be all the better able to take care of 
her,” returned Lucy, promptly. “ Not that I ex- 
pect her to have me for a moment. I know my 
sister used to swear, when she was young, that she 
would nev-ah marwry anybody but a clergyman.” 


4 


PLUCK. 


“ And she did not ?” asked Preston. 

“ No.” And Lucy looked wiser than ever. 
“ My wrespected bwrother-in-law, Jim Arkwright, 
digs coals, and makes cottons and calicoes : a good 
fellow he is, too. I was at Harwrow with him.” 

“ Oh, a manufacturer?” some one asked. 

“Yes; has coal-pits and cotton-mills and such 
like,” returned Lucy, placidly. “ Seems to -pay, 
too. Anyway, his house is one of the pleasantest 
I know. I wish I was going on thirty days’ leave 
instead of ten.” 

“ Oh, you’re going to stay with your sister.” 

“Yes; and Harkness goes with me,” Lucy an- 
swered. 

I may as well tell you here that Cecil Lucy of 
the Scarlet Lancers had but one near relative in 
the world — that was his sister, Mrs. Arkwright. 
The name of Arkwright, connected with that of 
Weyland — Weyland & Arkwright — was one of 
the best known in and round about; the district of 
which Barnsbury was the centre. Well might it 
be known, for it was to be seen everywhere for 
miles and miles around — on carts and trolleys and 
railway - wagons alike ; on thousands and thou- 
sands of bales of cotton and calico ; on houses and 
mills ; I might almost say on men and women. 


HURRY NO man’s CATTLE !' 


5 


Originally the firm had stood just the same to 
the world — Weyland, Arkwright & Co. — though, 
had it been written in its entirety thirty years be-, 
fore Jim Arkwright had married Cecil Lucy’s sis- 
ter, it would liave run thus : Thomas Weyland, 
George Weyland, Jolm Arkwright, Murray Wey- 
land, and Joshua Stubbs. It stood Weyland, Ark- 
wright & Co. still, though Thomas and George 
Weyland were dead, as also were John Arkwright 
and Joshua Stubbs; so that Murray Weyland and 
James Arkwright represented the two old names, 
while the “ Co.” stood for one Alexander Macnab, 
a hard-headed Scotchman, who had been given a 
junior partnei*ship because, after having been an 
overlooker for many years, some other firm dis- 
covered that he was a clever fellow, and had of- 
fered him the same position, as an inducement to 
him to leave his old employers. 

It is not, however, with Alexander Macnab that 
this story has anything further to do, but'Avith the 
two senior partners of the firm. Of these, Mur- 
ray Weyland was a man under fifty years, old, and 
James — or, as he was invariably called, Jim — Ark- 
wright was quite fifteen years younger. 

It cannot be said that either of them was a man- 
ufacturer, of the conventional story • book type. 


PLUCK. 


Murray Weyland had been educated at Eton; 
Arkwright at Harrow. They hunted and shot and 
fished ; had grouse-moors in Scotland ; and most 
summers one or other of them went off to Norway 
for salmon-fishing; each had a lovely place in the 
neighborhood of Barnsbury, and combined the life 
of a country gentleman with that of a man of bus- 
iness. Probably the chief part of the weight of the 
coals and the cotton and the calico fell upon Alex- 
ander Macnab, as, in their father’s day, it had fall- 
en upon Joshua Stubbs. Be that as it may, it is 
certain that the bulk of the proceeds went into the 
pockets of the senior partners. It often happens 
so in other trades besides those which have to do 
with coals and cotton and calico. 

Well, to go back a little, Murray Weyland, be- 
fore he was thirty years old, had married the 
daughter of an Irish gentleman with just about as 
much pedigree as the Weylands had money, and 
about a tenth of as much money as the Weylands 
had pedigree : a handsome and vivacious woman, 
with regular features, and that, blue-black hair, just 
the shade of a raven’s wing, which often goes with 
those gray eyes which look like black ones, because 
Dame Nature has put them in with a dirty finger. 

The result of this marriage was, unbroken hap- 


HURRY NO man’s CATTLE !' 


7 


piness and one child, a daughter, who was called 
Olive. And Olive Weyland was not only the rich- 
est girl about Barnsbury, but the most popular, 
and by far the prettiest. 

Nor was hers common, every-day beauty ; for 
she was a girl with an air as distinguished as one 
might reasonably expect to meet on a fair day’s 
march. It had been said of her that the tradition- 
al spoon with which she had been born had been, 
not of silver, but of jewels and gold ; certainly she 
had been lucky in that she had inherited the best 
points of both father’s and mother’s persons. Mrs. 
AVeyland was a small, straight-featured, sparkling 
brunette, full of fire and fun and vivacity. Wey- 
land, on the contrary, was big and fair and slow, 
with what had been a brilliantly fair complexion, 
though now it was reddened and tanned by much 
exposure to sun and wind and all sorts of foul 
weather ; and as large, slow-speaking men often 
have, Murray Weyland had a firm, true, steady, 
tender heart, which had never done a wrong to any 
man or woman since the day it first began to beat. 

Olive had got the father’s true, steadfast nature, 
combined with occasional flashes of the mother’s 
wit; she had got the father’s large stature, the 
mother’s grace, the father’s yellow hair and fair- 


8 


PLUCK. 


ness of skin, with the mother’s regular features 
and gray Irish eyes. She had also got the benefit 
of the dirty finger, and tlie effect of the whole was 
to give to the world just as lovely a young woman 
as either author or reader could wish for the hero- 
ine of a story or to be the darling of any man’s 
heart. 

No other child than Olive had come to make 
music in the pretty old house where the Wey lands 
lived ; yet, though there was no boy Weyland to 
take his place in the firm, Murray Weyland did 
not make a trouble of the fact. There were enough 
of the young Arkwrights over at Barnardwistle to 
carry on half a dozen firms, he was in the habit of 
saying; and it was true. Jim Arkwright had 
married when very young, and the old place where 
his father and his grandfather had lived before 
him resounded with the noise of six little pairs of 
feet. Six healthy, happy voices shouted “ Dad, 
dad, dad !” when he returned from his office, or, 
in a well-bespattered pink coat, from his Elysian 
fields of delight — that is, from hunting; and these 
six were all boys, and two of them had had the au- 
dacity to come as a pair. 

And as there were enough of the young Ark- 
wrights and to spare, Murray Weyland was well 


V 


HURRY NO man’s CATTLE ! 


9 


content with his girl. Sometimes he declared in 
jest he had gone in for quality rather than for 
quantity, and there were many who agreed with 
him : among them notably was Edith Arkwright’s 
brother, Cecil Lucy, of the Scarlet Lancers, who — 
in spite of his affectation and his drawl, his air of 
wise imbecility, and his threadbare story about his 
first love, who was called Naomi, and had jilt-ed 
him, and his oft-repeated declaration that he meant 
to marry Booties’s little daughter. Miss Mignon — 
possessed one spot in his heart which was much 
more soft and tender than any of the fellows in 
the regiment, or, for the matter of that, Edith Ark- 
wright herself, gave him credit for — a spot of 
which Olive Weyland was queen. It was no new 
thing. Any time during the last five years Lucy 
had known perfectly well that she was the one 
woman whom the world held for him. Any time 
during the last five years — that is, from the day 
of her sixteenth birthday — he would have taken 
the plunge and asked her to marry him, had he 
had the faintest hope that she would accept him. 

But hope was what he had not had. He knew 
only too well that Olive Weyland did not care for 
him in the way he wished. His favorite adage — 
one which he made to fit all occasions — was 


10 


PLUCK. 


“Hnrry no man’s cattle;” and upon it he acted in 
this instance as in most others. So long as Olive 
showed no signs of caring for any one else, he was 
content to bide his time, to live his soldier’s life, to 
go on his placid, good-natured way, and tell his 
story of how he nev-ah wanted to marry but one 
lady in all his life, and she jilt-ed him; how her 
name was Naomi, and how she had thrown him 
over for an elephantine parson, whose name was — 
er — Fligg — the Wreverend Solomon Fligg; how 
he had met her since as the blooming mother of 
eleven little Fliggs, all copies in miniature of their 
estimable papa. He was content to live and act 
and speak so as to throw dust in the eyes of near- 
ly all who knew him ; and, as perhaps he neither 
expected nor meant, the most effectually blinded 
of all was Olive hei-self. 


“what shall I GIVE YOU?” 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

“what shall I GIVE YOU?” 


“Art thou afeard 

To be the same in thine own act and valor 
As thou art in desire? . . . 

Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ 

Like the poor cat i’ the adage?” 

Macbeth. 

‘There is no lady in the- land 

^ That’s half so sweet as Sally: 

She is the darling of my heart, 

And lives in our alley.” 

Old Ballad. 

It was Olive Weyland’s twenty-first birthday — 
her coming of age. 

It had been the invariable custom of her par- 
ents to give a summer dance upon that day, a 
dance following a garden-party ; but now that she 
had completed her twenty-first year, Mr. Weyland 
would fain have had an entertainment of a grand- 
er sort and of a more elaborate kind, but Olive 
would have none of it. 

“ No, dear dad,” she urged, “ let us have every- 
thing as usual. My birthday party has always 


12 


PLUCK. 


been enjoyed by every one, so why make any 
change 

Of course Olive had her way, and invitations • 
were sent out for the usual thing — a garden-party, 
followed by a marquee dance and a regular ball 
supper. And when the day came it rose bright 
and clear, as it beseemeth a fair August day to do. 
Olive awoke upon a world which seemed to have 
no drawbacks, no failures, no disappointments: it 
seemed to her like a bed of rose-leaves, among 
<Vhich there were no crumpled petals. 

In the breakfast-room a table was awaiting hei-, 
piled up almost to overflowing with birthday offer- 
ings — gloves and bouquets, pearls and diamonds, 
gold and silver. I had almost said frankincense 
and myrrh : nor should I have been very far out 
of it, for there were perfumes in bottles and jia- 
cons of every color and size and form ; and the 
appearance of the whole was more like an array 
of bridal gifts than of birthday presents. 

“ A glorious day, Olive,” said Mr. Weyland, 
when she laid her soft and blooming cheek for an 
instant against his, by way of morning greeting. 

“ Lovely, isn’t it, dear dad ? I really think I ajti 
one of the luckiest girls in the world. Mother 
darling, that is from you,” holding out a bangle set 


WHAT SHALL I GIVE YOU?’ 


13 


with rubies. “ Nobody else knew I was wishing 
for such a one.” 

“ Is it exactly what you wanted ?” her mother 
asked. “ I was more than half tempted to send for 
a few, that you might choose it yourself, only it 
seemed more orthodox to let it come in the light 
of a surprise.” 

“ Oh, much more ; it is lovely !” Olive answered, 
as she clasped thq beautiful ornament upon her 
arm. “ What is that ? — Edith Arkwright ?” taking 
a letter from the pile beside her plate as she spoke. 
“ Oh, that is nice ! ‘ Cecil has come,’ ” she read 

aloud, “ ‘ bringing Captain Harkness, of his regi- 
ment ; so I shall bring them to you to-morrow af- 
ternoon.’ That could not be better. Men always 
improve everything. And Mr. Lucy — I beg his 
pardon. Captain Lucy — always makes everything 
go off well ; he’s such fun.” 

She was not able to linger very long over the 
breakfast-table, or to examine the many offerings 
which the day had brought her. There were, she 
declared, a hundred and fifty things to do and to 
see after ; so presently she went away, singing in a 
right ringing voice a verse of an old ballad which 
had been haunting her persistently for weeks 
past : 


14 


PLUCK. 


“Of all the girls that are so smart, 

There’s none like pretty Sally: 

She is the darling of my heart, 

And lives in our alley. 

There is no lady in the land ^ 

That’s half so sweet as Sally : 

She is the darling of my heart. 

And lives in our alley.” 

Right tenderly did the fresh young voice linger 
over the quaint seventeenth - century words, and 
right bravely did she chant out that other verse, 
which tells to any sympathetic ear such a whole, 
big, wide world of tenderness and love and patient 
endurance : 

“My master and the neighbors all 
Make game of me and Sally, 

And, but for her, I’d rather be 
A slave, and row a galley. 

But when my seven long years are out. 

Oh, then I’ll marry Sally ! 

And then how happily we’ll live. 

But not in our alley.” 

As she crossed the lawn, just below the terrace 
which ran in front of the drawing-room windows 
(seven of them), towards the large marquee in 
which they were to dance in the evening, and to 
which several workmen were busily engaged in 
putting the finishing touches, her- voice rang out 


15 


SHALL I GIVE YOU?” 

as triumphantly as if she were indeed the beloved 
of the celebrated Sally, who lived up an alley, and 
kept her ’prentice-love as true to her as the needle 
to the pole ; indeed, with such nerve and dramatic 
intensity did she sing, that one of her hearers burst 
out laughing, and made her start visibly. 

“ Please forgive me for laughing,” this person 
exclaimed, in a tone of apology, which*yet had a 
ring of amusement in it. “ It really was so droll, 
the way you sang, ‘Oh, then I’ll marry Sally !’” 

Miss Weyland laughed likewise. 

“ Yes, of course it was ; but I love that old song, 
and it always makes me feel just as if I, too, had a 
Sally.” 

She looked past him, towards his companion, 
and held out her hand. 

“ How are you. Captain Lucy ? I’m so glad you 
have come to Mrs. Arkwright’s in time for my 
birthday-party. And this, of course, is Captain 
Harkness ?” holding her hand out to him in turn. 

“ Yes.” Then, as the hand was taken, he went 
on placidly : “ In time for your party. Miss Wey- 
land ? Why, I — er — came on purpose for it. A 
pwretty bother we had to get leave, too — hadn’t 
we, Harkness ?” 

“ Oh, an awful bother !” said Harkness, stroking 


16 


PLUCK. 


his mustache, and looking very modestly at lovely 
Olive. 

“ I — er — said my sister had got twins,” Lucy 
continued “ So she has, you know ; and I didn’t 
think it necessary to say it was thwree years ago.” 

“ But if you are found out?” Olive cried, laugh- 
ing. 

“ Oh, if I am found out !” shrugging his shoul- 
ders, as if that was a very remote contingency, 
about which he need not particularly trouble him- 
self. 

“ Well, you did get it, and that’s the great tiling,” 
said Olive, smiling. “ So now come and see the 
marquee. I was on my way to see how the men 
are getting on with it. It is where we dance this 
evening,” she added, by way of explanation to 
Harkness. 

Harkness made her a grave little^ bow, followed 
by a polite little speech expressive of joy at the 
good-fortune he had to be one of those who were 
so lucky as to have the chance of dancing in the 
big marquee that evening. 

“ But you are really to dance,” she said ; “ you 
are not to get into a corner and look as if you were 
simply dying for a cigar.” 

. “ I never smoke cigars,” he replied, gravely. 


WHAT SHALL I GIVE YOU?” 17 

Lucy laughed out aloud. “ I should think not; 
the vewry foulest bwriar-wood you ever saw in all 
your life,” he informed Olive. “ I assure you it 
sets evewry one in barwracks coughing as soon as 
ever he bwrings it out. Have you got it in your 
pocket, Harkness ?” 

“ I don’t take it to make calls upon ladies,” 
Harkness answered. “ Now, Lucy, on the contrary. 
Miss Weyland,is so devotedly attached to his clay 
that he goes so far as to take it to church with 
him.” 

“ Not really !” she said, smiling up at Lucy, who 
began to laugh in a shamefaced way, and reddened 
a little under the gaze of the black-fringed gray 
eyes. 

“And a week or two ago,” Harkness went on 
ruthlessly, “he created quite a sensation in Idle- 
minster Cathedral, and set all the grandees of that 
distinguished city agog. It was such a joke. We 
had had an awful old swell of a general to morn- 
ing service in the garrison church, and consequent- 
ly to lunch at our mess afterwards; and as this old 
gentleman sat and prosed and prosed and prosed 
till half-past three o’clock, it was all we could do to 
get out of uniform and into morning-clothes, and 
drive down to the Cathedral in time for afternoon 
2 


18 


PLUCK. 


service at four. Of course Lucy couldn’t do — do 
— I mean couldn’t live without a pipe, squeezed 
in somehow or other. So he smoked one in the 
cab ; and as we reached our destination before it 
was half finished, he just shoved it into his pocket 
and went innocently in, as if he had never done 
anything half so wicked as smoke a pipe in all his 
life. But by-and-by — I was sitting in the row of 
stalls immediately below him — I heard a fearful 
scuffle behind me, and a smothered laugh ; and 
when I looked round, there was poor Lucy, with a 
face as red as a turkey-cock or his full-dress tunic, 
trying vainly to get at his coat-tails ; and his coat- 
tails were smoking and smudging like a fire at a 
picnic !” 

Olive’s face had been growing more and more 
interested with each word that fell from Harkness’s 
lips, and her gray eyes opened as widely as an 
astonished child’s. 

“And how did you put it out?” she demanded. 

Harkness laughed more than ever. 

“ Oh, one of our officers happened to be next to 
him, and promptly crushed the smoking tails into 
better behavior. An awful dandy he is, too— quite 
the show-man of the regiment — and he was going 
out to tea after service. I assure you his face of 


WHAT SHALL I GIVE YOU? 


19 


concentrated disgust— whet) the excitement of the 
moment had passed over, and he realized the fact 
that the spick-and-span yellow gloves which had 
covered his hands when he left barracks were for 
the most part black enough for a funeral — was 
very tine.” 

“ Oh, but I gave him mine, and — er — mine were 
new !” put in Lucy, with an air of expostulation. 

“Oh, then it’s really true?” Olive cried, in sur- 
prise. 

“ True ? — as gospel,” answered Harkness, solemn- 
ly; “and if he had happened to sit in my place 
instead of where he did, there is no saying what 
might not have been the consequences. For I sat 
between two of the clergymen ; and if Lucy’s 
pockets liad burst into flames there, and had set 
the surplices on tire, why, that would have been a 
flare-up — no mistake about it.” 

“Take cai’e you leave it behind to-day,” Olive 
said, with a laugh, to Lucy ; “ for I am going to 
wear a muslin frock, and if you happened to set 
that on Are out in the open, I should not have the 
ghost of a chance.” 

“ I’ll take care never to set jowv fwrock on fire,” 
murmured Lucy, in a very low voice, so that his 
friend should not hear it; then added, as Mr. Wey- 


20 


PLUCK. 


land approached them, “If it were your heart 
now, Miss Weyland.” 

“ Ah ! if it were my heart. Captain Lucy,” slie 
answered, gayly. 

“Yes, dear dad; we are going to see your be- 
loved horses, certainly.” 

As the three— Olive, her father, and Harkness 
— moved away in the direction of the stables, Lucy 
found himself singing unconsciously, as he followed 
them, in a very soft voice, a line or two of Olive’s 
song : 

“But when my seven long years are out, 

Oh, then I’ll marwry Sally; 

And, oh, how happily we’ll live! 

But not in our alley.” 

Olive heard him, and looked back. 

“ You don’t sing it with much expression,” she 
said, turning to walk beside him. 

“ I would sing it with expwression enough,” he 
answered, “ if I thought thewre was the vewry 
faintest chance of Sally’s even — looking at me.” 

“ Poor thing !” remarked Olive, but without any 
pity in her tones ; for she was accustomed to Lucy’s 
extravagant love-making, and never guessed at the 
depth of earnest reality which lay behind it. “ So 
it has a Sally, and its Sally is not kind to it ? Poor 


21 


“what shall I GIVE YOU?” 

thing ! And it looks so dejected and so unhappy 
over it !” 

Lucy looked straight in front of him, and said 
not a word for full three minutes. It fell rather 
hard upon him that she should be so ignorant of 
tlie truth ; for during all these years, whenever he 
could scrape a few days’ leave together, he had al- 
most invariably spent it with Mrs. Arkwright, who 
was his only near relative. Her house naturally 
stood to him in the light of a home ; and he hard- 
ly ever accepted any other invitations, except it 
was to Ferrers’ Court, where he always spent some 
portion of his long leave. 

Each time he had so come it had been witli the 
fixed determination that he would speak to Olive, 
and get the matter settled one way or the other, 
for weal or woe ; but each time he had gone away 
without putting the momentous question into words, 
because he felt that, so long as Olive seemed to 
encourage nobody else, it was best for him to 
await in patience the development of events. So 
each time he left his sister’s house it was without 
coming any nearer to the attainment of his wishes ; 
without indeed any change, except that he each 
time grew a shade more intimate with the Wey- 
lands in general, and with Olive in particular, and 


22 


PLUCK. 


that he each time went away more desperately in 
love with lier tlian ever. 

So many, many things seemed to come between 
tlie*n, serving as almost insurmountable barriers. 
In tlie first place, Olive would one day be enor- 
mously rich ; and as he had only some seven or 
eight hundred a year — a very modest income be- 
side what hers would be — he more than once went 
away feeling that some small signs of encourage- 
ment should come from her before he could ask 
her to become his wife ; and it must be owned 
that while Olive was always very sweet and friend- 
ly to him, treating him with a familiarity which 
she accorded to no one else, she had never given 
him that particular kind of encouragement which 
he desired, partly because she never for one mo- 
ment entertained an idea that he was really in 
love with her, or suspected that his extravagant 
and mysterious sayings were all true and had al- 
lusion to herself. 

AVell, for full three minutes Lucy did not say 
one word ; then he remarked, suddenly, 

“ Oh ! by-the-bye. Miss Weyland, I ventured to 
b wring you a small birthday offering. I hope 
you will do me the honor of accepting it.” 

“ To be sure,” replied Olive, never noticing the 


WHAT SHALL I GIVE YOU?” 


23 


silence and the sudden change to ice of his tone, 
chiefly because she was thinking what a fine fel- 
low Lucy’s friend was, and how well set upon his 
shoulders was his handsome head. “ To be sure. 
It’s very kind of you always to remember my birth- 
day. I never make you any return for it ; but this 
year I will send you a present, see if I do not.” 

The iciness of Lucy’s tone melted as he replied, 
and gave place to the tenderness of ineffable love. 

‘‘1 will keep it forev-ah !” he exclaimed. 

It was liard lines, but I must confess that Olive 
Weyland went into an agonizing fit of laughter. 
If only she had known what the drawl covered! 
But she did not, therefore she answered with care- 
less gayety and a world of laughter in her deep 
gray eyes, 

“ Then I shall certainly send it. There is such 
a solid satisfaction in sending a present to some- 
body who will keep it — forev-ah 1” It was quite 
unconsciously that her gay voice took an inflection 
^ which was a very echo of his. “ What shall it be? 
A birthday-book ?” 

“A birthday- book,” returned Lucy, with the 
ready acquiescence he would have given had she 
proposed to give him an elephant or a crinoline. 

They had reached the stable-yard by that time, 


24 


PLUCK. 


and just as Harkness and Mr. Weyland disap- 
peared through the door-way of a loose box, Olive 
made a fresh suggestion. 

“ Or, suppose we say a nice little locket, that 
you can wear Sally’s hair in and hang on to the 
end of your watch-cliain ?” she laughed mischiev- 
ously. “ It might make Sally jealous ; and there’s 
nothing like jealousy, you know, for hastening on 
little affairs of that kind. You will be able to say 
in all honesty that a lady gave it to you — a young 
lady. Don’t you think we had better say a 
locket?” 

“ If you will give me one. And — er — you 
wreally think” — looking down upon her without 
so much as the ghost of a smile on his face or the 
least little twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes, 
perhaps because he was so very much in earnest 
and not in the least amused — “ and you wreally- 
think thewre’s nothing like jealousy for helping 
such matters on ?” 

“ Oh, nothing !” she answered, promptly. 

“ But how do you know ?” he persisted. 

“ Oh,” said she, wisely, “ because every one says 
so — all the story-books — everyone,” with an expan- 
sive gesture of her arms, as if to include the whole 
world. 


“what shall I GIVE YOU?’ 


25 


“ But how is the jealousy to be bwrought 
about ?” he asked. 

“Oh, it’s all quite easy, to judge by the story- 
books. A little wholesome neglect — a little atten- 
tion to somebody else, who is not supposed to 
mind or to be deceived for a moment, but who 
sometimes dies of a broken heart — a few gifts of 
books and flowers to the somebody else : after 
which the obdurate Sally comes to her senses, or 
his, with most unlady-like and unmaidenly rapid- 
ity ; after which the whole affair is settled in five 
minutes, and the two live happy and joyously for- 
ever and forever. I assure you that is quite the 
proper way.” 

“I’ll twry it,” said Lucy, solemnly, and with 
emphasis ; “ I’ll twry it, upon my word I will.” 

“I would,” said Olive, nodding her head, and 
showing her pretty white teeth in a smile. “ And 
pile it up as high as you like about the locket,” 
she added. Yes, she did relapse into slang some- 
times, I admit it. “ I’ll give you a photograph, 
too, if you like.” 

For a moment Lucy almost forgot his role; 
then his habitual serenity and his drawl came to 
his aid, and he recovered himself. 

“Will you indeed?” he said, with quiet self- 


26 


PLUCK. 


possession. “ Wreally, ]!iliss Weyland, I’m awfully 
obliged to yon.” 

Olive began to sing teasingly : 

“ ‘But when my seven long years are out. 

Oh, then I’ll marry Sally; 

And, oh, how happily we’ll live ! 

But not in our alley.’ 

Poor Sally !” she cried ; “ she little thinks 
what a plot is being laid against her at this mo- 
ment.” 

“ That is vewry twrue,” answered Lucy, serious- 
ly; “but, as — er — all the world knows, ‘all’s fair 
in love and war.’ Then, what about dances this 
evening? I hope you are going to be good tQ 
me.” 

“ Two waltzes,” she answered : “ that ought to 
be enough to make even the hardest of Sallys’ 
hearts soften, if only yours could see it.” 

“ I hope no Sally would — ” he began ; then 
broke off short, looked at her in his wise way a 
moment, twisted his mustache as if seeking for 
an idea, then said, quite quickly for him, “ Two 
waltzes ? A thousand thanks !” 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


' 27 


CHAPTER III. 

A FEIGNED ATTACK. 

“For to be wise and love 

Exceeds man’s might: that dwells with gods above.” 

Troilm and Cremda. 

“O tell her. Swallow, that thy brood is flown: 

Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, 

But in the North long since my nest is made.” 

The Princess. 

It was just four o’clock in the afternoon. The 
gardens at Copplethwaite were already very well 
filled with guests, and more were coming with 
each moment. The party from Barnardwistle — 
that is to say, the Arkwrights (husband, wife, and 
several children), with the two Lancers, Harkness 
and Lucy — arrived just as the hour struck. Lucy 
thought he had never seen Olive look half so love- 
ly as she did that afternoon, in a gown of creamy 
muslin and lace, wdth a great cluster of crimson 
roses in her bosom, and with her mother’s bangle 
of rubies upon her arm. The fan which he had 
given as his birthday offering was in her hand. 


28 


PLUCK. 


and his jealous eyes were quick to notice it; his 
jealous heart gave a great bound of exultant pride 
that his -gift had been singled out from what he 
knew, by experience, had been a host of presents. 

Poor Lucy ! he would have been less exultant, 
or, more truly, he would not have been exultant at 
all, had he known tliat at that very moment all 
lier thoughts were occupied in thinking, as she 
had thought in tlie morn'tng, that Captain Ilark- 
ness was, without exception, the handsomest man 
she had ever seen. Now, as a matter of fact, 
Ilarkness was not what many people would have 
described as handsome at all. A big, fine man, 
with a broad back and muscular arms — a man of 
extreme good-nature, sound judgment, and a some- 
M’hat amusing tongue — but otherwise not particu- 
larly distinguished in any way. 

Lucy, on the contrary, was just about as hand- 
some a fellow as you could wish to look upon — 
lithe, graceful, and very strong, though some inches 
shorter than Harkness; with sunny, smooth hair 
and very blue eyes; with good, regular features 
and a particularly pleasant voice. He was alto- 
gether beyond comparison with Ilarkness, as Ilark- 
ness himself would have been the first to declare 
had the subject been put forw'ard for his opinion. 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


29 


However, as Olive kept rather in the rear of her 
mother, that she might greet each new-comer, 
Lucy betook himself farther into the gardens with 
his sister, on the lookout the while for the some 
one who was to be the means of bringing the w'ay- 
ward Sally into a tit and proper state of mind — 
that is, a state of mind which should make her 
adopt a manner which should encourage — or, at 
least, not discourage him from asking her to be- 
come his wife, and should prompt a pretty “yes” 
in answ’er to that important question. 

He therefore, being a man quick to decide such 
matters, kept his eyes open, and cast about, in his 
quiet way, to determine which of the many young 
ladies who w'ere present he should honor for the 
time by his attentions. There was no lack of 
damsels — damsels who were fair and young, rich 
and amusing. There was Margery Donnithorne, 
one of the richest girls in that rich neighborhood ; 
but Margery Donnithorne was intensely stupid, 
had a long neck like a swan, which, though lovely 
in that regal bird, and exquisite in a woman on 
paj)er, is anything but attractive in flesh and 
blood ; and Margery, too, had a mouth so small 
that some people wondered if, as a baby, she had 
been able to suck her thumb, and even went so far 


. 30 


PLUCK. 


as to say it was a thousand pities her mother had 
not taught her to gobble her whole baby fist, in 
the hope, by so doing, of widening the pursed-up 
lips! 

Then there was Octavia Long, the cleverest blue- 
stocking in the county, or half a dozen counties 
near it. But Lucy did not think he liked blue- 
stockings, and was quite sure he was afraid of 
them. Besides, Octavia squinted horribly; and 
even with the hope of winning Olive ever before 
his eyes, Lucy did not feel it would ever be possi- 
ble for him to say tender things to one eye at a 
time, not even though the tender things meant noth- 
ing, and had only the object of making Olive Wey- 
land jealous. No; Margery would not do, and 
Octavia would not do either. True, there was Sy- 
billa North, as pretty a girl as any man on earth 
need wish to flirt with. Yet Sybilla would not do 
any better than either of the others; for Lucy 
knew, and always felt a little ashamed of the 
knowledge, that Sybilla had rather more than a par- 
tiality for him, and would certainly take every word 
he said for gospel ; and, indeed, might even go so 
far as to break her heart outright — a contingency 
as devoutly to be avoided as breaking his own neck. 

All at once, however, he hit upon the right per- 


.A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


31 


son ; and as Mrs. Arkwright stopped to speak to a 
lady, and immediately introduced Captain Hark- 
ness to her, Lucy, after lifting his hat and making 
his bow, with the addition of one or two polite 
commonplace remarks, sheered off and made his 
way to a little group, consisting of an old lady, two 
young ones, and a young gentleman who was so 
very young that he did not count for anything at 
all. 

“ Good - morning. Lady Charlotte,” said Lucy, 
pleasantly. “Fine day, is it not. Miss Baumme? 
How d’you do V’ to the boy. Then he drew a chair 
a trifle nearer to that of the young lady whom he 
had first addressed, and sat himself down thereon 
with considerable care, testing its weight-carrying 
powers very gingerly indeed ; for it was a frail- 
looking affair of wicker-work, and seemed utterly 
unfit for the responsibility of carrying his goodly 
allowance of bone and flesh and muscle. 

“ It will smash, if you don’t mind,” said Miss 
Baumme, with a laugh ; then added, mischievous- 
ly, “ How I wish it would !” 

Lucy looked at her with his wisest air, and shook 
his head solemnly. 

“ Miss Baumme,” he asked, reproachfully, “ what 
can I ev-ah have done to you, that you should be 


32 


PLUCK. 


go — er — cwruel as to wish to see me — er — spwrawl- 
iiig ignominiously on the pansy-beds ? I — er — warn 
yon solemnly that if it does come down, I shall 
clutch hold of your chair, and — er — you shall come 
down with me.” 

“Oh, I shall hear the warning groan of yours, 
and jump up in time,” she answered, with a laugh. 
Then asked, in quite a different tone, “ Who is that 
with your sister ?” 

“ Oh, that is Captain Harkness, one of our offi- 
cers,” Lucy answered. 

“ Staying at Barnard wistle ?” said the young lady, 
carelessly. 

“ Yes ; and one of the best fellows in the world,” 
Lucy returned. 

At that moment Olive came quickly along the 
path towards the group of which Mrs. Arkwright 
was one. Harkness turned aside and spoke to her. 
Lucy envied liim the bright smile and the upward 
glance she gave him as, with one or two words of 
reply, she passed on and entered the house. After 
a few minutes she appeared again, and this time 
took a course wliich led her past Lady Charlotte’s 
group. 

“ The band is going to play some waltzes,” she 
informed them ; “ so, if' anybody wants to dance 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


33 


to them, anybody can go to the marquee and 
begin.” 

“ How very nice !” Miss Baumme exclaimed. 
“ I, for one, shall go as soon as anybody asks me.” 

“ May I havte the pleasure ?” asked Lucy, prompt- 
ly- 

lie was undoubtedly a man of action, this officer 
of the Scarlet Lancers, who enjoyed the, to some 
people’s fancy, unenviable reputation of being the 
biggest fool in the service, though as many had 
the opposite opinion that he was simply as clever 
as daylight. But this was perhaps the very first 
time on record when he had not, at the very first 
mention of waltzing, sought to secure Olive We}^- 
hind for the first dance — certainly it was the very 
first when he had omitted even to ask her for the 
second. He felt it was no use half doing things; 
he had made up his mind that he would rouse her 
cold heart into jealousy, and thence into love; 
therefore he rose from his chair and offered Miss 
Baumme his arm, without even suggesting that 
Miss Weyland should give him a dance before the 
regular programme of the evening. 

For*a moment Olive was so astonished that she 
could scarcely believe the evidence of her own 
senses. A comical idea flashed 'into her mind: 
3 


34 


PLUCK. 


could Evelyn Eaumnie be the “Sally” of whom 
he had spoken during the morning? It was not 
unlikely. He had come to Barnardwistle when- 
ever he could get a few days’ leave ! Why, how 
blind she had been not to see it before I Of coui-se 
it was Evelyn who was the attraction. She turned 
away, having come to this conclusion, and encoun- 
tered Ilarkness, who had come in search of her. 

“They are just tuning up,” he said, referring to 
the baud. 

“Yes. I think every one knows who wants to 
know,” Olive answered. “ Not many people care 
to dance in the afternoon ; but there are some who 
have driven a long wa}', and will have to leave 
ratlier early, and so we always have it for them.” 

By this time they had reached the marquee, the 
white lace curtains of which were looped up in fes- 
toons, to admit of air and light. Over the board- 
ed floor was spread a well-glazed linen cloth, and 
already three couples were slowly spinning round, 
revelling in the unwonted space and freedom from 
jostle and crowd. Ilarkness put his arm round 
Olive’s waist, and they slipped off just as Lucy and 
Miss Baurame came to a stand-still. 

Before that dance had ended an eager thrill had 
shot like lire through Lucy’s heart — a thrill which. 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


35 


expressed in words, would have told that he felt 
his grand seheme for the cultivation of jealousy 
was beginning to work. Forthwith ho redoubled 
Jiis attentions to Miss Bauinme. 

“ Shall we go and look for an ice ?” he suggested, 
as the music ceased. 

“I think we will,” said she, deliberately. 

“ It works,” said Lucy to himself, “ it works !” 

lie had caught a half-puzzled expression upon 
Olive’s face as he and Miss Baumine left the mar- 
cpiee; whereupon he led her away with an air of 
devotion which deceived everybody but Evelyn 
Baumme herself. He found her a seat in a shady 
and retired arbor, where a trayful of ices and a 
great flagon of champagne-cup had been set on a 
little table, in readiness for any thirsty persons 
who might happen to come that way. There were 
two comfortable garden-chairs also : Miss Baumme 
took one, Lucy the other. 

“ This is a wreasonable way of entertainment, 
don’t you think said Lucy, handing a glass of 
cup across the table. 

“ None for me, thanks. I shall confine my at- 
tentions to coffee-ices and sponge biscuits,” she an- 
swered. “ You may have all the cup, if it won’t 
get into your head.” 


36 


PLUCK. 


“ My head,” said Lucy, “ is pwroof against any 
tvvi'ouble of any kind ; tlie fellows say, because it’s 
so empty, nothing will ever stop in it, not even the 
effects of bad liquor,” 

He tested the quality of the cup, and then looked 
around the arbor. 

“ This is a vewry cosey kind of place, is it not?” 
he remarked. “ The sort of oasis in the desert 
you don’t often meet with at garden-parties.” 

“ Like a good many things the AVeylands pro- 
vide,” returned Miss Baumme, as she ate her ice. 

After this the little flirtation progressed amaz- 
ingly. The strains of “ Mon Keve ” stole softly to 
them on the still summer air ; but neither of them 
moved, except that Lucy filled up his goblet with 
cup, and Miss Baumme helped herself to another 
ice. The music ceased, but the cup and the ices 
were slowly consumed. After an interval of a 
few minutes the music began again — “Liebt und 
Verloren” this time — but they sat still, this pair, 
who were both of them playing at love-making. 
But presently, when the slow, swinging, dreamy, se- 
ductive strains of Waldteufel’s “Manola” reached 
their retreat, Lucy looked inquiringly at his com- 
panion, and she rose, saying she thought it was time 
they went back to — the world ! 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


37 


“ Out of paradise !” ended Lncj', not ininded to 
be outdone in insinuating pretty things. 

However, though they went back to the world, 
they went back to that part of it where they could 
still be together — that is to say, to the marquee. 
There they found thi-ee happy couples swinging 
slowly along in what might be termed ballroom 
bliss, having a first-rate floor, perfect music, plenty 
of room, and abundance of air. 

“ Lovely !” said Lucy. 

He had not asked her to dance, but somehow 
his arm slipped round her waist as if by instinct, 
and they made the trio of couples into a quartet; 
not, however, before Lucy had had time to note 
the astonishment on Olive Weyland’s face, and 
had seen her turn to Ilarkness with what he felt 
sure must be a forced laugh. 

“ It works !” he said once more to his own soul 
in triumph. 

He was quite right — it did work, but not at all 
in the way he imagined. So far from Olive’s laugh 
being forced, it was in truth a very real one ; so 
far from her being hurt, jealous, annoyed in any 
way at his marked attentions to Miss Banmme, she 
was ojily a little surprised and very much amused ; 
in fact, she was quite willing that he should dance 


38 


PLUCK. 


all the afternoon and all the evening with Evelyn 
Baumnie, provided that he did not raise any ob- 
jection to her doing the same with Captain Hark- 
ness, if she so chose. 

Yet, though Harkness — who knew what was 
what in a woman as well as most men — would 
willingly have claimed Miss Weyland as his only 
partner that day, they did not dance very much 
together after all. There are certain well-defined 
limits to inclination, which go by the names of 
conventionality and etiquette: those same limits 
stepped in upon that occasion, as they do on many 
another, and were, moreover, aided by the fact that 
Olive was at home, and therefore could not go in 
for enjoyment as she might have done had she not 
been obliged to look after unfortunate people wdio 
did not know any one, and still more unfortunate 
people who did know others of their kind, but were 
troubled by shyness and such-like uncomfortable 
traits of character. 

But it was during the week which followed 
that she and Harkness had such a good time. 
As Lucy’s attentions to Miss Baumme increased, 
so did Olive Weyland’s manner towards Harkness 
become more and more encouraging. Nor must 
Hai-kness be suspected of any meanness in carry- 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


39 


ing on such a flirtation as he did under Lucy’s 
very nose. He was a man wliose judgment was 
singularly valued in the regiment. Years before, 
Ferrers — better known to the world as Booties — 
had taken his advice before all othei-s in the mat- 
ter of providing for Miss Mignon ; and since that 
ofticer’s marriage — when Lucy had, naturally 
enough, fallen a little away from him, or at least 
from the hourly intercourse with him — he had 
somewhat taken the place in Lucy’s daily life 
which aforetime Booties had occupied. Conse- 
quently, he knew something of his feelings with 
regard to Olive Weyland. Many and many' an 
hour he had sat solemnly listening, pipe in mouth, 
while Lucy babbled on, pouring out the story of 
his love, his doubts and fears, his hopes and wish- 
es, his admiration. 

After his flrst introduction, he had told Lucy 
she was the most charming young lady he had 
ever had the good -fortune to meet; had, wished 
him every success; had told him to command him 
at any time for the special duty of best man ; and 
had generally made himself as agreeable over the 
matter as was possible. 

Strangely enough, Lucy had not confided to his 
friend his little plan for assailing the hitherto im- 


40 


PLUCK. 


pregnable fortress of Olive Weyland’s heart. Per- 
haps it was because he did not wish even his 
friend to know that he had the need of resorting 
to stratagem ere that fortress would strike its flag 
to him ; perhaps it was because he thought it best 
to keep liis own counsel, lest, in the event of de- 
feat, Ilarkness should be tempted to laugh at 
him, if not openly, at least within himself. It 
might have been because of either or both of 
these causes. Anyway, certain it is that he did 
keep his own counsel, thereby causing immense 
surprise to Ilarkness when he perceived that his 
comrade had gone in for a red-hot, headlong, 
mad flirtation with a young lady whom, to him- 
self, he described as ‘‘a pretty little witch, who’ll 
nail poor old Lucy before he knows what he’s 
about.” 

And he was indignant too ; for he, being, as he 
imagined, behind the scenes, and believing Miss 
Weyland was destined to be the future Mrs. Lucy, 
thought Lucy was treating her rather shabbily. 
And then, utterly mistaking the encouragement 
in Olive’s eyes and manner for wounded pride — 
pride which would rather die than show the white 
feather — and honoring her as strong men do honor 
resolution and pluck in any one, flung himself as 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


41 


resolutely into a flirtation with her as ever Lucy 
had flung himself into the flirtation with' Miss Eve- 
lyn Baum me. 

It was a gay week. The Arkwrights gave a 
dance at Barnardwistle ; there were two picnics, 
two dinner-parties, and tea and tennis every after- 
noon at Copplethwaite. The four who were play- 
ing so determinedly at cross-purposes were present 
at all these festivities, except the less formal tennis 
and tea, when one or two afternoons Lucy quietly 
“levanted ” from Copplethwaite, leaving Ilarkness 
in possession of the field, and went off to Lady 
Charlotte Baumme’s place, a mile away, where he 
and Miss Evelyn studied tennis in an arbor, much 
after the fashion in which some luxurious gentle- 
men enjoy a battue — that is, with an arm - chair 
and a footstool. 

Ilarkness thought he had never seen a girl show 
such pluck before. He honored her for taking 
such pains to hide her wound from him, for laugh- 
ing and flirting with as much gayety as if he in- 
stead of Lucy was the object of her liking. 

So the game of cross-purposes was played on 
and out. Lucy, when the leave of tlie two soldiers 
was over, left Barnardwistle without attempting to 
have the smallest explanation with Olive, believing 


42 


PLUCK. 


that when he should come again she would be all 
sweetness’and liglit. 

Miss Bauinme having flirted quite as badly with 
Lucy as Lucy had done with her, was decidedly re- 
lieved when he departed without going through 
the form of proposing to her, althougli she was in- 
tensely surprised at the omission ; for there was a 
certain “Jack” in the background who possessed 
all the heart Miss Ban mine had to bestow upon 
any one, though she was quite ready and willing at 
any time, when Jack was not on the same side of 
the globe terrestrial as herself, to go in heart and 
soul for amusements which are qualified in general 
society by the woi-d passing. 

Ilarkness left Olive with a very kindly and' ten- 
der leave-taking, believing to the last in her won- 
dei-ful pluck and power of self-control ; and as for 
Olive, she watched him go with a dull pain at her 
heart, tears in her ej’es, and a wild, mad, passionate 
longing tearing at her heart to run after him and 
C17, “ Stay, stay, stay ; for I love you !” . 

Yet she did not move from the spot upon which 
she stood to hear him say “Farewell !” No mat- 
ter what women feel, they must ask no questions, 
make no ]u*otestations, show no emotion. Hearts 
may be breaking, but conventionalities must be 


A FEIGNED ATTACK. 


'43 

observed. It is a common social law, and, as a 
matter of course, Olive did not break it. 

And yet, during tliose few days of gayety and 
amusement, the fortress of Olive Wey land’s heart 
liad struck its flag in complete surrender, without 
even waiting until the enemy demanded it. And 
then, oil the pain, the humiliation, the crushing 
misery of seeing the enemy move quietly off, not 
apparently thinking the citadel was worth taking! 

Ileigh-ho for the noble game of cross-purposes! 


44 


PLUCK. 


CHAPTER IV. 

CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 

“Ob, how this spring of love resembleth • 

The uncertain glory of an April daj^ 

Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 

And b5’^-and-by a cloud takes all away!” 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

“O Life and Love! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song! 

O heart of man! canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free?” 

A Day of Sunshine. 

1 HAVE not as yet told you that all fliis happened 
in tlie August succeeding the return of the Scarlet 
Lancei’S from the Egyptian campaign of ’82 — that 
is, in the August of the following year — Mdien men 
had been learning warfare by practice instead of 
theory, as they used to do in the autumn manoen- 
vres, when those uncomfortable affairs were the 
chief events of the military year. 

Rather to their surprise, late in the October of 
-the same year the Scarlet Lancers received their 
orders to move from Idleminster to Gaystown ; 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


45 


and Gaj’stown was, as it happened, just five miles 
from Barnardwistle and Coppletliwaite, and the 
largest town within reach of Barnsburj. 

Most of the officers were dreadfully aggrieved, 
and many were the gibes and jeers cast at the pow- 
ers that be up in Whitehall ; but Lucy was, at all 
events, one dissentient voice: he entered into elab- 
orate explanations of his reason for not being as 
furious as most of the others. 

“You see, / know the distwrict,” he said, when 
he first heard the grumbling over the news; “and 
my — er — sis-tah lives in the — er — neighborhood; 
and I’m — er — wrather fond of my sis-tah — and — 
so, of course, I’m wrather glad than otherwise to 
make the change.” 

In truth, it was full of hope and joy that he set 
out on that long march of foiir-and-twenty days: 
with each one his heart grew lighter and more 
light. Olive Weyland seemed to stand at the end, 
like a bright beacon-star, beckoning him on, on, on. 

Her face at parting haunted him still. Many 
and many a night he had turned into his quarters 
and had flung himself down on his cot, worn out 
and yet unable to sleep, or, if he did sleep, was yet 
more tormented by restless dreams of Olive’s com- 
pressed lips, Olive’s pale face, Olive’s tear-filled 


46 


PLUCK. 


eyes. Oh yes; never doubt that he had seen all 
the signs of distress which she had contrived to 
hide from Ilarkness’s less keen eyes. Many and 
many a bright autumn morning he had reproached 
himself bitterly, as he rode along with the sun glit- 
tering on his helmet and the breeze fanning his 
face, for not having spoken out and put everything 
right before leaving Barnardwistle. 

However' of one thing he was determined, and 
that was, that as soon as he saw her again he would 
speak out, and put everything straight between 
them, be the consequences what they might. 

“ And after all,” he wound up to himself, “ any- 
thing will be better than suspense, both for her and 
for me ; thewre’s nothing like speaking out, and 
putting evewrything all pwroper and stwraight.” 

His quarters were already in something like order 
when he reached Gaystown. The barracks were 
commodious and clean — everything seemed of a 
rose-tinted hue to him — and it was with a very 
light heart indeed that, the day after his arrival, he 
found himself riding along the road to the place 
where his darling lived. 

And then came disappointment; for the servant 
who answered the door informed him stolidly that 
the family was away from home. 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


47 


“ Oh ! and — er — wliewre are they ?” Lucy de- 
manded, feeling all at once three or four inches 
shorter. 

“ Somewhere abroad, sir,” he replied. “ I can’t 
say exactly where, for I believe they are moving 
about. Mr. Arkwright would know, or any one 
down at the office, as the letters are sent on from 
there. Miss Weyland was took ill of a fever in 
Scotland, and the doctor ordered her to a warmer 
climate for the winter.” 

“ A fever ! What kind of a fever?” Lucy asked, * 
wondering irritably why his sister had never men- 
tioned the fact to him in one of her A'oluminous 
epistles. 

If he had carefully read those same epistles, he 
would have found in one of them a full account 
of Olive’s illness and slow recovery. .But Lucy 
was, like some other brothers, apt to lay volumi- 
nous sisterly correspondence aside, to wait for a 
more convenient season, with the not unfrequent 
result of forgetting it altogether. 

“ What kind of a fever?” he repeated. 

“ Well, sir, it was rheumatic fever, caught with 
getting wet and a chill,” the* servant replied. 

“ Miss Weyland had a very near chance of be- 
ing crippled for life — so Mrs. Foster the ’ouse- 


48 


PLUCK. 


keeper, who went to Scotland to nurse her, 
said.” 

Lucy’s heart began to thump furiously. 

“ But she’s — that is. Miss Weyland is — all wright 
now?” he asked, a big and particularly inconven- 
ient knob creeping up his tliroat, and threatening 
to choke him. 

“Oh yes,5ir; only there’s some doubt whether 
the young mistress may not have to stop abroad 
all the winter.” 

“Wreally?” 

Then Lucy pulled himself together, and put on 
an air of indifference which he was very, very far 
from feeling. 

“ Er — well, I’m vewry sorwry — vewry sorwry in- 
deed. No use leaving a — er — card, as thewre’s no 
one at home. . Er — good-day.” 

“ Good-day, sir,” returned the man ; then added 
to himself, as he watched him ride away from the 
liouse : “ Um ! I pretty well took the shine out of 
’im, I fancy. Lor ! ’ow scared he did look !” 

Lucy rode out of the gates and turned his horse’s 
head in the direction of Gaystown, without think- 
ing of going neat Barnardwistle. It would have 
been of small use had he done so, for Mrs. Ark- 
wright was lingering at Scarborough for the last 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


49 


days of a late season, and if Arkwright chanced to 
be at home, instead of being ont with the hounds, 
he would be down at one of the mills, or at one of 
his pits, or somewhere or other where Lucy would 
have no end of trouble to find him. Moreover, he 
did not just then feel inclined for conversation, or 
for intercourse with any of his kind whatever. 

However, although tlie doctors in Scotland, 
Barnsbury, and London, each and all advised that 
she should remain abroad, on the sun-steeped shores 
of the Mediterranean, for the whole winter, Olive 
Weyland, after she had been three months absent 
from her native country, and — it may as well be 
owned at once^ — after having heard from Mrs. 
Arkwright what regiment had taken up its quar- 
ters in Gaystown Barracks, was seized with such a 
violent desire to return to Copplethwaite, that, at 
the beginning of December, her father and mother 
tliought it would be best to bring her home, and 
did so — only, however, on condition that, should 
the keen air of that neighborhood prove too much 
for her, she would come away again without mak- 
ing any fuss whatever. And Olive promised. 

“ I shall not be ill,” she declared. “ I never was 
ill at home yet, and 1 shall not be ill now ; besides, 
I am dying to be back again. I am sick to death 
4 


no 


PLUCK. 


and weary of foreign houses, foreign food, foreign 
tongues, foreign men, women, and children. Let 
us go home.’' 

Now, as this happened to be exactly her father’s 
opinion and state of feeling, he too said, 

“ Let us go home.” 

So home they went; and the first week in De- 
cember found them again at Copplethwaite, in 
every-day ease and comfort. 

So high did Olive’s spirits rise that, on the very 
first morning after their return, she went gayly to 
and fro about the old house singing, in her sweet 
lark’s voice, her old favorite: 

“Ob, when my seven long years arc out, 

Oh, tlien I’ll marry Sally ! 

And, oh, how happily wee’ll live! 

But not in our alley ” 

“She is much better for coming home; quite 
her old self again,” observed Murray Weyland to 
his wife, as the fresh notes rang through the hall. 

“ Oh, quite ; she is much better,” Mrs. Weyland 
agreed. 

Better for coming home ? Not the shadow of a 
doubt about it. Olive did not feel like the same 
person ; and indeed when, during the course of the 
afternoon, Lucy made his appearance, was so de- 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


51 


lighted to see him, so unreservedly glad and pleased 
at his presence, that poor Lucy felt a corresponding 
flush to that which dj’ed her cheeks flaming in his 
own, and, poor fellow, fondly believed that the lit- 
tle plan for arousing her jealousy to which he had 
resorted in the past summer had worked well — 
hud, in truth, not only grown and flourished, but 
liad borne fruit a hundred-fold. 

“You have been ill,” he said, taking her hand 
tenderly in Ids, and altogether forgetting to let it 
go again. 

“Oh yes, very ill; awfully bad. I thought I 
was going to die one -week,” trying gently to re- 
lease her hand. 

“But you’wre better now?” — holding on to it 
like grim death. 

“Oh yes. I’m better now; quite well, in fact” 
— giving her hand another little wriggle. 

Reminded of the hand, and that it was still in 
his possession, Lucy allowed it to slip from his 
grasp as far as the tips of the fingers ; and then, 
by a bright inspiration, made a remark which justi- 
fied him in keeping it for quite ten minutes longer. 

“ But you’wre vewry thin,” he exclaimed, in com- 
miserating accents. “ Your hand is like a skele- 
ton — nothing but skin and bone.” 


52 


PLUCK. 


“Well, it is rather thin, certainly,” admitted 
Olive, looking down upon it with a comical air, 
and then laughing outright at the contrast it pre- 
sented to his strong, well-covered one. 

Lucy was just going to say, “I wish you would 
give it to me, thin or not,” when the door opened, 
and the butler announced “Miss Smith;” so Olive 
withdrew her hand hastily from his, and he, in- 
stead of proposing, said, “ 6^(9;i-found !” to himself. 

Well he might, for he knew Miss Smith — no one 
better, who did not live in her vicinity. And real- 
ly for that afternoon any private conversation was 
altogether at an end ; for Miss Smith, having caught 
Olive’s hasty movement and the frown upon Cap- 
tain Lucy’s handsome face, smelt a rat, and stuck 
like a leech or a ferret, on the chance of finding 
out a fresh bit of news with which to go round the 
neighborhood the following day. 

Lucy had reason for knowing Miss Smith, and 
for knowing that, if it were possible. Miss Smith 
would contrive to outstay him. He fairly groaned 
within himself when he saw the lavish afternoon 
tea wliich came in in Mrs. Weyland’s wake. How 
he would have blessed the sight of the dry bread 
and butter, and thin watery tea, it was so often his 
lot to meet witli in the pretentious society of garri- 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


53 


son towns ! Alas ! alas ! the tea was fresh and 
strong, the cream of the thickest, the bread and 
blitter looked delicious, and the cake had come 
from Bnszard’s. When Lucy saw it — the genei-al 
appearance of the festive board, I mean, not that 
the cake had come from Buszard’s — he gave up all 
hope of ousting the enemy. However, by dint of 
almost turning his back upon her, he did contrive 
to monopolize Olive; and Olive was nothing loath. 

“ We are going to have a small — a vewry small 
— afternoon dance on Wednesday,” he told her, in 
a confidential tone that was scarcely above a whis- 
per. “ You will have the formal invitation to-mor- 
row. You’ll be able to come, I hope.” 

“ Oh yes, and be very grateful for being asked,” 
answ'ered Olive, promptly. 

“It’s a vew’ry small affair — only about forty,” he 
went on. “You see, so many of the fellows are 
away.” 

“Yes?” 

Olive’s tone was distinctly inquiring. 

“Yes; about half, of course. And, by-the-bye, 
Ilarkness — you remember him ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Olive could scarcely speak, lieV heart began to 
beat so fast and hard. 


54 


PLUCK. 


“ Ah ! well, he’s awa}', too ; been away thwree 
M-eeks or more.” 

“ Oh, really !” 

It was well that conventionality came to her aid 
as it had done before. Her tone was admii-ably 
indifferent; and, indeed, no one who heard it would 
have gathered from it that she took even a passing 
interest in that officer. And yet, what deadly dis- 
appointment filled her heart! How utterly all the 
delight and glory of home seemed for the moment 
to have died out! For the time Olive AVeyland 
found herself “ alone, and journeying in a land o-f 
sand and thorns.” 

Lucy’s voice recalled her somewhat to herself, 
and helped her to thi'ow aside the effects of her 
disappointment. 

“ You will give me some dances?” he asked, very 
Immbly. “ They are all to be round ones. Shall 
we say thwree waltzes ?” looking at her implor- 
ingly. 

“ For you to forget, as you did the last I prom- 
ised you?” said she, with a laugh — a very shaky sort 
of laugh, but one bravely managed for all that. 

“Forget! As if I could forget rmything!” he 
began, passionately. 

“No! then you didn’t forget them?” thinking 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


55 

tlie while how utterly he had been taken up, about 
the time of her birthday, with Evelyn Baumme. 
“ That only makes it worse. By-the-bye, have you 
heard that Miss Baumme is engaged 

Lucy laughed. 

“ Yes ; and to Jack Downe. He is quite the 
best fellow in the world ; and how nice she is !” 

u Very !” 

Olive thought he was uncommonly cool about 
it ; but after all, perhaps Evelyn Baumme was not 
the “ Sally ” of whom he had told her. 

“ And how is Sally ?” she asked. 

“ Sally?” 

Lucy positively started. 

“Yes; the Sally you w’ere going to try jealousy 
upon. Don’t you remember ? Did it answer? I 
never gave you that locket, did I ?” 

“No!” He had recovered himself by then. 
“ But you might give it to me now. My birthday 
is past, you know.” 

“ I will. I’ll get it the next time I go to Gays- 
town,” Olive replied. “ But you have not told me 
how is the fair Sally, and how you are getting on ?” 

“ Oh, she is all right, I think, now, and we are 
getting on vew’ry nicely, thank' you ; at least, I hope 
so,” he added, modestly. - 


50 


PLUCK. 


“I am glad to hear it,” with a little sigh for her 
own disappointment. 

Oh, that sigh ! It went through Lucy’s heart 
like a sword, though it was a sword of triuiuph, 
with a sensation that was half pleasure, half pain, ^ 
I think if the redoubtable Miss Smith had not 
been sitting on the other side of the room, discuss- 
ing a certain matter of gossip with Mrs. Wey land, 
who was bored to death, but too polite to show it, 
Lucy would promptly, there and then, have taken 
the darling of his heart in his arms, and begged 
her never, never, never, so long as she should live, 
let him hear her sigli like that again. 

But alack ! alas ! there sat Miss Smith — an ex- 
ceedingly hard, dry, and (to Lucy) melancholy and 
inconvenient fact — a fact as natural as life, and, 
like a nightmare or the indigestion, not to be got 
rid of ; and there, too, did Miss Smith remain un- 
til he could linger no longer. 

“ Disagwreeable old person !” he said within him- 
self. It was just like his luck that she should have 
but five minutes’ walk to her own door, and that 
he should not only have five miles to drive back 
to barracks, but should also have a man, one of his 
old i-egiment,-aud but passing through Gaystown 
with a stay of one night, dining with him that even- 


CHANGE OP QUARTERS. . 


57 


ing. On this account he was reluctantly compelled 
to decline Mrs. Weyland’s invitation to remain for 
dinner at Copplethwaite. 

However, Mrs. Weyland — who was, as she had 
always been, a very good friend to him, and in 
truth would much have liked him as a son-in-law 
— seeing his evident disappointment, asked him 
very kindly, indeed, to come the following evening ; 
so that he took his way back to Gaystown Barracks 
in a very jubilant frame of mind. 

But, oh for the crosses and mortifications of oui* 
poor human nature! When he reached Copple- 
thwaite at seven o’clock the following evening, he 
found the drawing-room full of people, and awaj^ 
went his dream of a long and blissfully quiet even- 
ing with Olive; while Mr. Weyland dozed serene- 
ly in a big chair, and Mrs. Weyland would cer- 
tainly remember an all-important letter which he 
must kindly post for her, which would not take 
ten minutes to write, though from experience he 
generally found it take at least an hour. 

Poor Lucy ! He was quite as disapjiointed for 
a few minutes as Olive had been the previous day. 
He hated dinner-parties — those where he met the 
])eople he did know, and equallj' as much those 
where he met peo])le whom he had never seen. 


58 


PLUCK. 


He hai’dlv knew which bored liiin the most wo- 
fully. 

Still, even if it was a stiff, stupid party, Olive 
was there; and Olive, wlio had recovered her spir- 
its by the aid of a few scalding tears in the seclu- 
sion of her own chambej-, aiid had immediately 
called herself not a few hard names for her foil}’, 
was looking lovelier than he ever remembered to 
have seen her, in a rose-colored gown, with a great 
knot of stephanotis bloom upon her bosom. 

He sat beside her, too — that was no small fa- 
vor. I fear his own young lady found her cav- 
alier a not very entertaining person, for twice 
when she distinctly addressed him he answered, 
with studied politeness and that wise air of im- 
perturbable deliberation which distinguished him 
in general society, “Er — yes!” and three times 
“ Aw — no !” and once “ I — er — nev-ah heard of 
it!” 

“An awful duffer!” said the young lady, who 
was of a slangy turn, to her sister, when discussing 
the party afterwards. “Very good-looking, and 
with lovely eyes, but such a duffer !” 

“Oh! so taken up with Olive Weyland,” re- 
turned the sister, with decision. “I was just op- 
posite to you, you know ; and I'eally the way lie 


CHANGE OF QUARTERS. 


59 


looked at her ever}- now and then was quite too 
killing. I don’t think Olive cares a straw for 
him.” 

“ Never could understand Olive myself,” said 
the young lady who had gone in to dinner with 
Lucy. “ But I can quite understand now that 
Captain Lucy reall}^ is considered the biggest fool 
in the army. I never sat next to him at dinner 
before ; and really at dances, if a man waltzes well, 
you don’t think about anything else.” 

However apparent the real state of Olive’s feel- 
ing might be to others, Lucy discovered nothing, 
lie drove home with as gay and liglit a heart as 
ever beat beneath a manly bosom. He smoked 
two pipes before turning in for the night — pipes 
which were so all-satisfactory that the tobacco 
which filled them might have been grown in the 
fields of Elysium ; for in the blue wreaths which 
wtmt floating up, up, up, he saw fair and lovely 
visions of the long, long years which w^ere to come 
— years in which there was much sunshine and 
but little shadow. 

Such shadows as there were only served to 
throw up into yet greater brilliance the bi-ight 
coloi-s and tints in which the chief incidents were 
painted. 


60 


PLUCK. 


We have all had those fair visions at some time 
or other of onr span — the span which, for so many, 
is made up chiefly of soi-did and carking cares. 
They are vei’y lovely : some call them castles in 
the air ! 


AN AFTKiiNUON DANCE. 


61 


CHAPTER V. 

AN AFTEKNOON DANCE. 

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you.” 

Much Ado About Nothing. 

“She was his life — 

The ocean to the river of his thoughts — 

***** 

But she in these fond feelings had no share! 

Her sighs were not for him.” 

The Dream. 

Olive Wetland was dressing for the dance at 
Gaystown Barracks. It is not often that I vent- 
ni’e to describe a dress, because it is a process in 
which I do not excel. But I must attempt to de- 
scribe liei’s, because it was so prett}^ ; so — I beg 
yon will not think me flippant, good reader — here 
goes : ' 

It was gray — a light silver-gray — and of a soft, 
fleecy material, which fitted like a jersey or a glove. 
On the skirt were many rows of narrow silver 
braid ; and the jacket was braided across the front, 
d la inilitaire. There were frillings of some soft 


62 


PLUCK. 


gray diaphanous stuff at throat and wrists; and 
upon the waves and ripples of her golden hair 
rested a gray hat, which liad a great many short 
ruffled feathers (which Mrs. Winter tells me is 
called a “tip”), with just a toucli of silver upon 
the extreme edge of the velvet brim. On the 
whole, though dainty, a trying dress, but one which 
suited Miss Weyland to a nicety, or (to use the ex- 
pression of one of the Scarlet Lancers, when she 
reached the mess-room), “ down to the ground.” 

“ I think I shall do,” she murmured to her own 
image in the glass, when her maid had left her: 
“yes, I think I shall do.” And then she added, 
with a blush and a smile, a frown and a dimple, 
each following the other in rapid succession, “ I 
wonder if he will be there? I wonder if he will 
have come back for it ?” 

However, at the very first glance she gave round 
the room, she discovered that Captain Harkness 
was not present. So he had not thought the dance 
worth returning for. 

Now, as a matter of fact, Harkness had not so 
much as been told that the dance was being given, 
it being merely an informal affair, and scarcely 
standing in the light of a regimental entertainment 
at all. 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


08 


Whether, if he had known of it, he would liave 
come back for it, is more than I can say ; but, as 
he was in complete ignorance thereof, he was 
naturally neither present, nor to blame for not 
being so. 

But, be the reason of his absence what it might, 
Olive’s afternoon began with a strong sense of dis- 
appointment ; though, being a girl of good cour- 
age, she gatliered up all her pluck, and tried right 
valiantly to hide what she was feeling. 

Lucy asked her for the hrst dance — a waltz ; so 
the soft gray gown and the scarlet jacket floated 
away together. 

“By Jove!” muttered a big fellow standing by 
the door, “ what a beauty old Lucy’s got holcl of ! 
Preston, who’s the girl dancing with Lucy ?” 

“ Oh, that’s Miss Weyland.” 

“Weyland — Weyland. Where does she live? 
Who’s her father ?” 

“Lives a few miles away, and her father is great 
in coals, cotton, calico, and other good things of the 
kind. They say it’s one of the nicest houses in 
the neighborhood. She’s a pretty girl, eh?” 

“ Very ! Jolly dress, too. Ah ! there, they’ve 
slopped. Pm going to get introduced.” 

Accordingly, he slipped across the room and 


G4 


PLUCK. 


nuiniiiired a request for an introduction in Lucy’s 
ear. 

Lucy turned with a slight start. 

“ Oh, to be sure ! Miss Weyland, allow me to 
introduce Mr. Ilartog.” 

“May I have the pleasure of the next dance?” 
said Ilartog, when they had exchanged hows. 

“ Certainly,” replied Olive, graciously. 

Then Lucy put his arm round her again. Har- 
tog fell back a step or so, and the soft gray gown 
and the scarlet jacket were in a moment once more 
ill the throng of dancers. 

“ What a handsome 'man !” remarked Olive, sud- 
denly, referring to Ilartog. 

“ Yes ; and a good fellow, too. Like myself, he 
has the cwredit of possessing more inches than 
bwrains,” Lucy answered. “ But he wreally is a 
good fellow — one of the best in the wregiment — 
and dances divinely. I'dare say you’ll like him 
tremendously, and will get along with him like a 
house on fire ; only ” — all at once assuming a very 
tender tone — “ only, don’t get along too well.” 

“ I am not likely to do that,” said^Olive, with a 
nervous laugh. 

She felt the closer pressure of the arm about 
her waist; and who can say what words might not 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


65 


have followed had not the music at that moment 
come abruptly to an end ? And then Lucy found 
himself besieged for introductions to Olive. Be- 
fore he could shake himself and her free of all 
the men who were anxious to know her, the band 
struck up again, and Hartog appeared with a very 
proprietorial — 

“ Our dance, I believe 

He was one of those people who at times are 
capable of standing upon but scant ceremony, and 
he certainly disposed then of the half-dozen men 
gathered around Olive with no ceremony at all. 

“ Old Tony’s fit to back the whole of us,” said 
Miles, with a laugh, to Preston. “ What a swag- 
gering chap it is at times !” 

“ Yes.” 

Then, as Lucy turned away with his most listless 
air, asked inquisitively, 

“I say, Lucy, is Tony ‘ gone ’ on Miss Weyland, 
do you think ?” 

“ Can’t say, I’m su-ah,” returned Lucy, indiffer- 
ently. “ You’d bet-tah ask him. Old — er — Tony 
is — er — not a man who has secwrets, or who gene- 
wrally cares to conceal his feelings.” 

“ They might say that of you,” put in Miles. 

“ I dare say they do,” answered Lucy, with ad- * 

5 


66 


PLUCK. 


mirable placidity. “ Every one knows stowry. 
How I was — er — awfully in love with a lady who 
— er — jilt-ed me: her name was Naomi — ” 

But here he stopped short, for Miles had fair- 
ly bolted, and Preston, with a laugh, went after 
him. 

Lucy simply dropped his story, having no audi- 
ence, and turned to speak to some ladies at hand. 

“ I never feel so near manslaughter as I do when 
Lucy begins about that woman,” muttered Miles 
to Preston ; “ and it’s always the same, in season 
and out of season: ‘I was — er — awfully in love 
with a lay-day, and she jilt-ed me: her name was 
Naomi.’ And so he babbles on to the bitter end, 
if you’ll let him.” 

Meanwhile, Hartog and Miss Weyland were 
dancing. 

- “ I told them to play a waltz,” he said, as they 
went into the mess-room. “ Such a comfort, hav- 
ing an informal affair like this. We can have what 
dances we like.” 

“ But you are not going to have waltzes all 
through, are you ?” she asked, smiling. 

“ If you would promise to dance them all with 
me, I should try my little best to do so,” he replied. 
“But of course you are engaged for all the rest. 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 67 

Just like my luck, never to have seen you before 
tins afternoon.” 

“ Well, I am engaged for a few,” said Olive, de- 
murely. 

“Oh, only a few? Then I shall beg for a few, 
likewise. Now, shall we begin ?” 

Mr. Anthony Hartog certainly danced remarka- 
bly well ; and Olive, remembering Lucy’s rather 
enthusiastic description of his capabilities in that 
line — enthusiastic for Lucy, that is — acknowledged 
to herself that he was really the very best waltzer 
she had ever danced with — strong, firm, light, easy. 

“ Something like a waltz, this,” he murmured in 
her ear, just as she arrived at that conclusion. 

“Yes,” murmured Olive in reply; then added, 
rather more stiffly, “ We go together pretty well, 
don’t we ?” 

But Mr. Hartog made no reply, except that the 
hand holding hers clasped it a shade more closely. 

“What others?” he asked, with his brave air of 
composed possession, when the music ceased. “ Let 
us arrange it now, won’t you? or I shall have a 
dozen fellows tearing at me for introductions.” 

“I am engaged for nine» — no, eight,” said she, 
looking at her fan, with its neat memorandum on 
the, first bar. “ How many are there to be ?” ' 


68 


PLUCK. 


“ About eighteen, I think. Suppose you give 
me all the rest ? We need not dance them, you 
know; and nobody will notice how long or how 
often we sit out.” 

Now, it must be remembered that Olive had 
been wofully disappointed by not finding Hark- 
ness among her soldier hosts; and being disap- 
pointed, and in rather a reckless mood, did not care 
in the least whether she shocked Mi-s. Grundy or 
not. Therefore, not caring, she agreed to give Har- 
tog all the dances that were left — that is, about — 
well, I am really ashamed to tell how many. 

The next dance and the next again she “got 
through,” with partners that were neither use nor 
ornament. Then Lucy appeared at her side, and 
announced that this was one of his. 

“ I have not forgotten it this time,” he said, in 
an undertone. 

“ No ; the last was too shameful. I could hard- 
ly believe my own eyes when I saw you sailing off 
with Evelyn Baumme, instead of coming for me. 
It only shows how little your best friends are to be 
trusted.” 

“ But you may twrust me,” he asserted. 

“ Oh, of course,” carelessly. 

“ And how did you like Hartog ?” 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


“ Very well,” in a tone of complete indifference. 

“ He dances well, does he not ?” 

“ Oh yes — beautifully.” 

“Far better than I do,” half regretfully. “I 
never danced half so well as I should have liked ; 
but so long as I do that or anything else, so that it 
will please you, evewry one else’s opinion may go 
to Jewricho, and — er — stop thewre.” 

I am quite sure that if any one of the Scarlet 
Lancers had heard Lucy deliver this lengthy speech, 
or rather remark, impromptu, straight out of his 
head, without any hesitation until he reached the 
very end, they would have believed he was fast 
getting ready for brain-fever, or something serious 
of that kind. As for Olive, she laughed outright. 

“Pray, my dear Mr. Lucy,” she said, forgetting 
his rank in her amusement, “ do not trouble to make 
tender speeches to me ; it won’t do. You see, I 
know you too well, and what all your pretty speech- 
es are worth. I’ve heard too many rhapsodies 
about — well, shall we say Sally, for instance ?” 

“Sally!” 

Lucy fairly started, but the start was followed 
by a laugh. 

“ Come in here,” he said, opening the door of a 
room on the right of the corridor into which they 


70 


PLUCK. 


had passed from the mess-room, and which was 
arranged as a drawing-room. “ Would you like 
me to tell you,” he asked, “ who Sally wreally is ?” 

“Oh, of course. Who is she? Tell me this 
minute,” Olive cried, eagerly. 

“Then I will. You are Sally!” 

There! It was out at last! At last the words 
he had been trying so hard and so long to speak 
were out, and Lucy felt as if a great burden had 
been lifted off his heart. 

' Olive, however, did not seem quite to understand ; 
she stood looking up at him, with her wonderful 
gray eyes opened to their widest extent ; her lips 
were slightly apart, as one who suspects a joke but 
does not yet see the point thereof. 

Lucy looked straight at her, too, his brows slight- 
ly drawn together, and a half-defiant air about his 
whole attitude. 

“You are she,” he repeated, doggedly. 

“ I am she !” said Miss Weyland, with a delight- 
ful air of sauciness. “You really must forgive 
me, but I don’t see it a bit. Where is the joke ?” 

Lucy groaned. 

“ When I spoke of ‘ Sally ’ I meant you,” he said, 
desperately. 

Olive shook her head. 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


71 


“ It’s all very sentimental, of course,” she said, 
sweetly, “ but it won’t do. Captain Lucy — it won’t, 
really ; I’ve known you too long. I suppose you 
and the redoubtable Sally have quarrelled again, 
and you are trying to make her jealous by pre- 
tending to flirt with me. But, all things consid- 
ered, I think it’s just a shade mean of you; we’ve 
always been such awful friends.” 

“ But I mean it all — every word of it,” poor Lucy 
protested. 

“ Oh, come now ; that won’t do,” Olive declared, 
with a soft laugh. “ Have you forgotten the times 
— positively out of count — when you have confided 
all your troubles and wretchedness to me ? If you 
have — I — have — not.” 

“ Olive, my darling, I was speaking of yourself 
always^'* he cried. “ Heaven knows, I never gave 
any other woman a thought !” I wonder what any 
one of the Scarlet Lancers would have said to that ? 
Olive, however, had never heard of Lucy’s first 
love, so it did not matter. “ Can’t you, won’t you, 
believe that I love you ?” he w’^ent on. “ Have you 
not one word of kindness for me ?” 

“ Do you mean it ?” she asked, in a voice which 
had suddenly grown sober. “ Do you really mean 
it?” 


72 


PLUCK. 


“ Mean it? Of course I mean it. Why ” — smil- 
ing tenderly down upon her — “is it so difficult a 
thing to believe ?” 

“ Very !” she answered, briefly ; “ very difficult !” 

Still, Lucy was not alarmed. 

“ But you will be kind to me, even if it is diflS- 
cult to believe ? You won’t pwrove a cwruel, hard- 
hearted Sally, after all, will you ?” 

' He tried to take her hand, but Olive held it back; 
then, indeed, an awful thought flashed into his 
brain. 

“ Olive, you are not going to wref use me ?” he 
cried, in a very bitter tone. 

But Olive was silent, and would not look at him, 

“ Oh, Olive, Olive !” he cried, miserably. “ Is it 
all no use ? is it all no good ? Have you not one 
kind word for me? not one wray of hope to give 
me ? Can you say nothing ?” 

“ I am very sorry,” she began, in a formal voice, 
and wishing wildly that she had never come to this 
dance at all. 

Many and many a time she had thought, ay, and 
had said too, that she should like to see Captain 
Lucy in a really dramatic or sentimental situation, 
just to make sure wdiether the to before the r was 
put on, or natural to him ! It crossed her mind, as 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


73 


such trifles do cross one’s mind at moments which 
are the most critical and important ones of a life’s 
history, that now she had the gratification of her 
wish, and that he was indeed “ born so.” And 
then Lucy interrupted her, brusquely enough. 

“ You are vewry sorwry,” he said, scornfully. 
“ Your tone expwresses it, I assure you.” Then all 
at once his voice changed. “ Oh, Olive, Olive ! 
must you say ‘ No V Will you never be able to say 
anytiiing else ? I will wait — years, if only you will 
hold out some faint hope that some day you will 
love me a little. Why do you shake your head? 
Is it so impossible a thing to ask ? Indeed,. I am 
not a bad fellow on the whole. I know I^m not 
clever; in fact, I dare say the fellows are about 
w'right when they say I’m the biggest fool in the 
service. And I know I’m not wrich, or much to 
look at ; but still, I should never go against you in 
anything, and I would love you devotedly to the 
last day of my life. Does all that go for nothing?” 

“ Oh yes, yes ; of course it goes for a great deal,” 
Olive answered, miserably — “ for a great deal — a 
great deal ; and yet I cannot do what you ask. I 
can’t help it — it’s not my fault, indeed ; but I think 
if you had never misled me about that wretched 
Sally, perhaps it might have been different. Oh ! 


u 


PLUCK. 


why did you do it ? Don’t you know how impossi- 
ble it would be to learn, even to begin, to care 
about a man whom you hear always raving about 
somebody else ? And you did rave. Captain Lucy ; 
you know you did ! How was I to know you were 
really raving about me, when you always so care- 
fully pretended it was some one else ?” 

“ But if I tell you diffewrently now — ” he be- 
gan, with great eagerness, when Olive interrupted 
him as brusquely as he had interrupted her a few 
moments before. 

“ Oh yes, now^'‘ she said ; “ but what is the good 
of telling me now, when it’s too late ?” 

Lucy caught at her words. 

“ Too late ! Why too late % Do you mean that 
thewre is somebody else ?” 

“ I’m very sorry,” Olive faltered. 

“ Then you’wre engaged ?” he asked. 

“No, not engaged.” 

“ Oh, I quite understand,” he said, coldly. “ Let 
me take you back to Mrs. Weyland. I have kept 
you here an — aw — unconscionable time.” 

Before Olive could reply, the door was flung 
open, and Hartog came in, his head well up, and 
with a certain swaggering gesture of his arm, as 
well known as himself to his brother-officers. 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


75 


“Oh, you are here, Miss Weyland? I think 
this is our dance,” he said, pleasantly, and not look- 
ing at all as if he saw that Lucy’s face was the 
picture of disgust and anger, as was Olive’s that 
of abject wretchedness. 

Olive took his offered arm eagerly, and turned 
away with an imploring look at Lucy, who was 
staring stonily out of the window. 

“ Been proposing and got a let-down,” Hartog 
said to himself. “ Poor old chap ! I quite thought, 
between Naomi and Mignon, he was above proof. 
Poor old chap !” 

But he was far too wise — though in mattei’s which 
had not to do with the fair sex he was not remark- 
able for wisdom — to let Miss Weyland see for a 
moment that he even suspected the storm through 
which she had just passed. It was wonderful how 
he contrived to charm the girl, and to creep into 
her good graces during that one afternoon ; his 
manner was so pleasant and easy, yet without a 
trace of spooniness about him. And in the frame 
of mind in which she was, after the shock of dis- 
covering the true state of Lucy’s feelings, such a 
manner was the one best calculated to soothe her, 
and make her feel at peace and at ease with her- 
self. She could not have borne a more familiar 


76 


PLUCK. 


tone; and indeed I think if Captain Harkness 
himself had happened to be in Gaystown Barracks 
that afternoon, and had made an offer of his hand 
and heart to Olive, she would have turned from 
him in disgust. She had had more of love-making 
than she cared for ; and it was because he was so 
entirely friendly, and nothing else, that Hartog con- 
trived to charm her so wisely. Such a protection, 
too, he seemed to her, that Olive altogether forgot 
that he was a young and handsome man ; and 
when, after a long chat to Mrs. Weyland, that lady 
very graciously invited him to go over to Copple- 
thwaite, she supplemented the invitation by a smile 
and a “ Yes — do,” which had the effect of mak- 
ing him determine, there and then, to go in and 
win at all or any costs, though for the occasion — 
keeping Lucy’s “ let-down ” in mind — his manner 
continued to be friendly even to fatherliness. 

As for Lucy, he never addressed Olive once 
again during the rest of the afternoon, or seemed 
to have any idea that she was in the room. A 
dance for which she was engaged to him began, 
and she had the pleasure of seeing him sail off 
with a tall damsel, in an apricot - colored gown, 
without so much as a glance in her direction. 

Hartog, who had not troubled himself to find 


AN AFTERNOON DANCE. 


77 


any other partner than her, and happened at that 
moment to be leaning against the wall watching 
her, said to himself that he had no idea that old 
Lucy could have proved to be such a sulky brute, 
without the grace to take a denial gracefully; 
and he knew by Olive’s face that they had been 
engaged for this dance. Well, guessing as he did 
at what had passed between them, he could not, 
of course, leave her neglected under the humiliat- 
ing slight which Lucy put upon her in behaving 
thus, so he pushed his way across the room to her. 

“Are you engaged for this dance. Miss Wey- 
land ?” he asked. 

“ I will dance it with you, if you wish,” answer- 
ed Olive, evading a more direct reply. 

“ As I guessed : engaged to Lucy,” thought Ilar- 
tog ; “ and Lucy dancing with that scraggy Miss 
Morton. Ah!” 

After that, Olive gave herself up recklessly to 
flirtation. She danced, she laughed, she sat out and 
ate ices — all with Hartog — and Anally when they 
went away, it was Hartog who saw them into their 
carriage, and stood with his hand upon the door 
thereof for yet five minutes, telling them about the 
regimental ball, which was fixed for the 5th of 
January, and to which they would receive a for- 
mal invitation in the course of a da^ or two. 


78 


PLUCK. 


“ A charming man !” said Mrs. Weyland, as they 
drove out of the square and turned in the direc- 
tion of Barnsbury. 

“ Yes,” said Olive, absently. 

“What was the matter with Captain Lucy?” 
Mrs. Weyland went on. “He never came to say 
good-by to us, though I’m sure he saw us leaving.” 

“ Oh, he was in a bad temper,” answered Olive, 
with rather a forced laugh. 

“ In a bad temper !” her mother echoed, draw- 
ing the fur rug a little closer. “ Dear me, I did 
not know he was even possessed of such a thing. 
And why was he in a bad temper ?” 

“ Oh, I had the ill-fortune to offend him,” an- 
swered Olive, with studied carelessness. “ Really, 
I was very sorry ; but I dare say he will get over 
it after a while.” 

“Oh yes; he will get over it,” said Mrs. Wey- 
land, confidently. . 

Olive, knowing perfectly well what she meant, 
could not help turning a little red ; for she knew 
that Captain Lucy would probably never get over 
it in the way her mother’s tone implied. However, 
she maintained a discreet silence, because she did 
not just then feel like going into the whys and 
’yyherefores of her reason for refusing him. 


NOT EXACTLY A— QUARREL I 


79 


CHAPTER VI. 

NOT EXACTLY A — QUARREL ! 

“To be a make-peace shall become my age.” 

Richard 11. 


“Love, that hath us in the net! 

Can he pass and we forget? 

Many suns arise and set. 

Many a chance the years beget; 

Love the gift is love the debt: 

Even so. 

“Love is hurt with jar and fret. 

Love is made a vague regret; 

Eyes with idle tears are wet; 

Idle habit links us yet. 

What is love? for we forget: 

Ah! no, no!” 

Th^ Miller's Daughter. 

The short winter days passed quickly over, as 
days do about Christmas-time; but Lucy never 
made his appearance at Copplethwaite, and the 
“ quarrel ” with Olive did not seem at all near to 
being made up. 

True, one evening they met him at dinner at 


80 


PLUCK. 


Barnard wistle, when Mrs. Arkwright, all unknow- 
ing of the state of affairs — “ the split,” as Olive 
once or twice elegantly put it to her father in the 
privacy of absolute confidence — sent them in to 
dinner together, through the long courses of which 
Lucy talked to her precisely as he might have 
talked to a duchess with whom he was not very 
well acquainted. 

It cannot be said that Olive exactly enjoyed that 
evening: she felt so like — and, if the truth be told, 
looked so like — a culprit. _ I almost think if Lucy 
had thrown his anger to the winds, and had plead- 
ed his cause once more, she in her turn would have 
cast aside likes and better-likes, and would have 
taken him. But, unfortunately, Lucy was, as he 
had been ever since the afternoon dance, in a tow- 
ering rage — such rages as exceedingly amiable and 
imperturbable people do indulge in when they are 
fairly roused out of their habitual serenity. So, 
though he, out of common politeness, paid all due 
attention to his sister’s guest in his sister’s house, 
he never so much as once condescended to look at 
her, and so lost a golden opportunity of making 
up everything, and winning what his heart was so 
sore at losing. Alas ! alas ! opportunities which 
have once been ours, but which we have put aside 


NOT EXACTLY A — QUARREL! 


81 


or missed, seldom, if ever, come again, but are gone 
forever. A poet has put it, as poets do, poetically ; 

“This year knows nothing of last year; 

To-morrow has no more to say 
To yesterday.” . 

It is SO true, so very true ; it is so easy, so usual, to 
say, “ There’s another day to-morrow.” Ay ; but 
“ to-morrow has no more to say to yesterday.” 

And Tony Hartog went and went at Copple- 
thwaite very frequently ; indeed, he quite seemed 
to have taken Lucy’s place as friend of the house. 

He came and went upon all occasions, paying as 
much attention to the motlier as to the daughter; 
and even from Murray Weyland himself very soon 
won the character of a right good fellow, without 
any humbug about him. 

I must admit that Olive flirted with him dis- 
gracefully, though she never forgot Harkness for 
a moment; nor, however much or many the amuse- 
ments she went in for, was the hold he had taken 
upon her heart weakened or loosened for a single 
moment. 

It was wonderful how cleverly she could con- 
trive to lead a conversation round to the regiment 
and then to Captain Harkness, and there keep it. 
She heard from Hartog that he was coming back 
6 


82 


PLUCK. 


in time for the ball on the 5th, and therefore to 
the fifth day of the new year did she look forward, 
much as do the eyes of a Mohammedan pilgrim to 
Mecca, the holy city ; for he was coming back, and 
then — and then she would be in Paradise. 

Now, it happened that Harkness returned to 
Gaystown on the morning of the 5th, and after 
lunch strolled into Lucy’s quarters. 

“Well, old chap, how are you?” he demanded, 
pushing an easy-chair a little nearer to the fire. 

“ Oh, pretty fit, thanks,” answered Lucy, with a 
shade more drawl than usual. 

“ And how has the world used you lately ?” 

“ Oh, much as usual ” — smoking very hard, and 
looking fixedly at nothing. 

“ Ah !” murmured Harkness. 

For full ten minutes neither of them said one 
word ; then Harkness’s voice sounded through the 
fog of tobacco-smoke which filled the little room. 

“ How’s Miss Weyland ?” he asked, abruptly. 

“ I believe she’s all wright,” answered Lucy, in 
a formal tone. 

“You believe P'' repeated Harkness, in astonish- 
ment. “ What! are you not going there now?” 

“ Pve not — er — been vewry lately.” 

“ Quarrelled ?” asked Harkness, 


NOT EXACTLY A— QUARREL ! 


83 


“ No — not exactly quarwrelled,” returned Lucy, 
awkwardly. 

“ Oh, a misunderstanding ? Oh, take my advice, 
old man ; get it made up at once. Is she thinking 
about that little flirtation of yours in the summer?” 

“ I don’t think so.” 

“Well, as I told you afterwards, I think you be- 
haved rather shabbily over that.” 

“ It was not about that,” said Lucy, doggedly. 
“Look here, Harkiiess, it’s just this: she don’t 
cawre a little hang for me, and that’s the whole 
secwret. She as good as told me so, and I haven’t 
got over it. I suppose I shall some day, but” — 
shaking his head dolefully — “ I don’t feel like it 
just now.” 

“I shouldn’t mind laying a hundred that she’s 
despei-ately in love with you,” Harkness declared. 

Lucy shook his head again. He knew better 
than that. 

“Oh no, Harkness; you’wre mistaken — quite 
mistaken, as you will see to-night. At pwresent, 
Tony Hartog is flrst favowrite at Copplethwaite. 
The fellow positively lives thewre. I don’t think, 
though, that she wreally cares about him,” remem- 
bering that Olive had admitted that there was 
somebody else the very day on which he had intro-- 


84 


PLUCK. 


duced Hartog to her. Never for one moment did 
he suspect that it might be Harkness himself. 

And Harkness certainly did see that night a 
good many things, but not the one that Lucy in- 
tended him. He saw that Olive was looking love- 
ly; that she was evidently almost the victim of 
Tony Hartog’s admiration ; that she was quite as 
evidently intensely relieved when the time came 
for her to dance with him. Not being a particu- 
larly conceited man, he never suspected for a mo- 
ment that he, of all men on the face of this wide 
earth, occupied the place which he had always be- 
lieved to be filled by Lucy. 

“ I do think you are treating her badly,” he said, 
when they were smoking a pipe together after it 
was all over. 

“ Badly — I !” echoed Lucy, in astonishment. 

“ Well, perhaps not badly, but in a hard, incon- 
siderate kind of way — never going near her, or ask- 
ing her to dance, or anything. All girls like little 
attention at an affair like this.” 

“I did ask her,” Lucy returned. “And she — 
well — not pwrecisely wrefused me, but she told 
me she had only one left — the last ; and then, she 
added, she didn’t think they would be staying so 
late. Of course I thanked her and came away.” 


NOT EXACTLY A— QUARREL 1 8 $ 

“ And didn’t take it ?” 

“ Oh no ; what was the good ? I — er— took the 
hint instead,” with a miserable attempt at indiffer- 
ence. 

Harkness shook his head solemnly. 

“ Poor little soul ! She might well look so bored 
• as she did at times. You should have asked her 
early in the evening, and not have left her alone 
till an ass like D’Albiac, or a bumptious idiot like 
Carnegie, had had a chance of boring her into giv- 
ing them dances.” 

“ If she had wanted to give me one, she would 
have kept some,” Lucy persisted. 

“ I know she had one vacant at supper-time — 
the fourteenth,” Harkness asserted. 

“ Oh yes, I know ; but I was engaged to Lady 
Mawry for that, and I couldn’t possibly thwrow 
Lady Mawry over.” 

“ Oh, well, if she kept one, you couldn’t really, 
under the circumstances, expect more than that. 
How fearfully hot the ballroom was. Never danced 
in such a hot room in all my life. Positively, once 
or twice I thought my tunic must have choked 
me.” 

“ Yes ; it was vewry hot,” Lucy agreed. 

“ What an ass D’Albiac is I” Harkness went on. 


86 


PLUCK. 


cheerfully. “ It always seems to me such a piece 
of presumption — not to say confounded impudence 
— for a fellow who dances what he calls ‘deux- 
temps,’ and looks like a sausage capering about by 
electricity, or a marionette, or something of that 
kind, to go taking up the waltzes of the best part- 
nei-8 in the room. I asked Miss Weyland what she 
thought of him. She admitted that she did not 
consider him exactly a cheerful sort of fellow. 

“ ‘ By-the-bye, what did you talk about V said I. 

“ ‘ Oh, I said the room was full,’ she answered. 

“ ‘ And then V I asked. 

“ ‘ I said it was warm,’ she told me. 

“‘And then?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, then ; oh, I fell back on the theatres, and 
asked him if he’d seen Madame Tussaud’s lately.’ 

“By Jove!” Harkiiess continued, with a laugh. 
“ Madame Tussaud’s must have been quite a god- 
send. It’s my opinion old D’Albiac will be hav- 
ing a fit, or an attack of paralysis, before long. 
He’s left too much to go his own way since Booties 
left the regiment. Booties used to act upon him 
like a mustard-poultice on an inflammation — on the 
counter-irritant principle, you know.” 

“ Yes,” returned Lucy, absently. 

“Well, I’m going to turn in now. Good-night, 


NOT EXACTLY A— QUARREL ! §7 

old fellow ; or, rather, good-morning, for it is only 
a quarter to six.” 

“ Good-night,” said Lucy. 

At that moment Olive Weyland was just getting 
into her pretty, white -curtained bed, so blissfully 
happy that sleep seemed miles away from her. 
She never tried even to close her eyes, but lay wude 
awake during the rest of the night, thinking over 
it all. How gentle and tender and considerate he 
had been ! How big and brave and honest he was ! 
Poor Olive ! .If she had only known the truth, 
that Harkness had but looked after her all because 
Lucy was the friend of his heart, and he hoped 
one day to see her Lucy’s wife ! 


88 


tLUCli- 


CHAPTER VII. 
olive’s valentine. 

“Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 
Where most it promises; and oft it hits 
Where hope is coldest, and despair most tits.” 

AU's Well that Ends Well. 


“Ah, Love! 

Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! , 

Enemy 

Of all that mankind may not rue! 

Most untrue 

To him who keeps most faith with thee. 

Woe is me! 

The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 

. Ah, Love! 

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!” 

The SpanisJi Student. 

The month of January passed over, but Olive 
Weyland’s bliss did not lessen, and nothing hap- 
pened to' make the true state of Harkness’s feel- 
ings clear to her. 

During the first week in February, however, he 
went up to town on a two days’ leave — a fact 
which Olive learned while at a large reception 


olive’s valentm. 


89 


hear Gaystown, to wliicli she had gone solely be- 
cause she expected that he would be there. 

Lucy was in the room when she and her mother 
entered it, as also was D’Albiac. Now D’Albiac, 
although a very great admirer of Miss Weyland, 
was not a man of brilliant conversational powers, 
and, as a general rule, when holding intercourse 
with a lady, was, if not very liberally lielped out, 
^apt to stick fast. On that occasion he managed to 
get possession of a seat next to her ; but Olive was 
not inclined to talk. Consequently, Mr. D’Albiac 
very soon relapsed into silence ; and Olive, while 
apparently attending very closely to the music 
which was going on at that moment, was trying 
hard to hear a conversation which went on in whis- 
pers, or at least in an undertone, just behind her. 

“ Oh, but Harkness is going to leave,” she heard 
Lucy say. 

“ Yes ; but to be married.” That was the voice 
of the colonel’s wife. 

“ I haven’t heard anything about his being mar- 
wried,” said Lucy. 

“ No ? Oh, but you have been away ten days, 
have you not ? I assure you it is quite true ; the 
colonel told me this morning. It was this way : 
when my husband heard he was going to leave, he 


90 


PLUCK. 


told him he supposed he meant to settle down, and 
so on. Captain Harkness went very red, and said 
he should announce it formally as soon as the day 
was fixed.” 

“ Never heard a bwreath of it before,” Lucy de- 
clared, decidedly. “ Fancy old Harkness going to 
be marwried ! Positively thewre won’t be a single 
bachelor left in the wregiment before long. Why, 
at the wrate we are going on, I shall have the 
whole mess to myself long before Mignon grows 
up into a marwriageable young lady. But wreally 
— er — I can hardly cwredit the news that Ilark- 
ness is going to be marwried.” 

Olive accepted the news as absolutely true at 
once. He was going to be married ! She sat just 
where the blow had fallen upon her, although the 
people moved to and fro and changed places on all 
sides of her. Men of all ages, professions, and ap- 
pearance came and spoke to her ; but Olive, with 
the faithful D’Albiac still by her side, stayed just 
where she was until her mother rose to take leave. 

She heard the music, listened to a variety of 
more or less valueless remarks, and gave answer 
to them. She assured D’Albiac she was not in the 
least degree faint. She bade adieu to the lady of 
the house, and went into the dining-room for a cup 


olive’s valentine. 


91 


of coffee before they left^all to the echo of four 
words — “ Going to be married.” 

AVliat four terrible words they were ! They 
formed themselves into a sort of sin^-sons: chant, 
and regularly beat themselves into her brain — “Go- 
ing to be married — going to be married !” 

My pen will hardly describe the bitter night 
which Olive passed. Oh, the sad tears which fell 
upon her pillow for the end of all her hopes — the 
pain of wounded pride, for the horrible realization 
of the truth that she had been slighted, passed over 
for another ! 

“ If only,” she cried, passionatelj’’, to herself in 
the midst of her tears — “ if only she had not said 
nay to Cecil Lucy — if only she had not rejected 
the honest love which he had offered her !” 

He would never ask her again now, of course ; 
she knew him too well ever to hope for that. 
She knew that although it was almost impossible 
to offend him, yet that, once really angered, it 
'was almost as impossible to put things right with 
him. 

If she had but known it, three lines on a. sheet 
of note-paper would have brought him to her side, 
if not with the rapidity of a flash of lightning, cer- 
tainly as fast as the four good legs of his best horse 


PLUC^. 


could carry him. Pride, anger, offended dignity—^ 
pooli ! He had no pride where she was concerned ; 
anger would have melted at her smile, like a snow- 
wreath before the heat of an August sun ; and as 
for offended dignity — why, what was all the dig- 
nity in the world, whether it happened to be of- 
fended or not, in comparison with the treasure of 
Olive’s promise? But Olive knew nothing of this; 
and so the wretched night passed over in doing 
nothing. 

The day, which broke cold and gray upon a 
chilly world, was the 13th of February. After 
some two hours’ fitful, broken, and uneasy slum- 
ber, Olive opened her eyes, and, as might be ex- 
pected, with a racking headache. 

Her first thought was to tell her maid that she 
would remain in bed ; but second thoughts said, 
“ No ; get up.” 

After her cup of tea, she decided to go for a 
ride, just as a means of getting away by hei'self, 
and also to do away with the ill effects of a bad 
night. For she was determined to hide, by every 
means in her power, the fact that she either had a 
headache or had passed a bad night, lest any one — 
she did not define in her own mind who the “ any 
one ” might be — should put two and two together. 


olive’s valentine. 


93 


and connect her indisposition with Captain Hark- 
ness’s marriage. 

Thereupon, immediately after breakfast, she left 
Copplethwaite on a tall gray horse, and took the 
road to Gaystown. After going a mile or so, she 
met Hartog and Lucy out for their morning ride 
together. Of coui-se Hartog pulled up his horse, 
and equally, of course, Lucy could not do other- 
wise ; though, if he had been alone, he would sim- 
ply have saluted and passed on. As it was, they 
turned back with her, and the three rode slowly 
towards the town, Olive in the midst. 

She did not, however, go more than a mile far- 
ther. It was not very pleasant, for Hartog talked 
a great deal, and Lucy very little ; so presently 
Olive drew rein, and said she had come far enough. 

“ Shall you be at home this afternoon Hartog 
asked. “ If so, I will ride over, if I may.” 

“ Yes, do. I believe several people are coming 
in for tea,” Olive answered; then looked depre- 
catingly at Lucy, and said, “ Won’t you come, too ? 
You’ve not been near us for ages.” 

For a moment it seemed as if every drop of 
blood in poor Lucy’s body had flown to his face ; 
the next instant it was as white as chalk. 

“I’m awfully sorwry,” he stammered ; “ but I’ve 


94 


PLUCK. 


got to go and look at a horse with the colonel. 1 
— I — don’t think I can get off it.” 

“Never mind; come another day,” said Olive, 
holding out her hand to him. 

“I will,” he answered. 

But he did not ; no, nor for many a day after. 

Olive felt braver and better as she rode back 
to Coppletliwaite alone ; she was on the high-road 
to making friends again with Captain Lucy, who 
would never, never, she knew, taunt her with what 
she was so desperately anxious to hide from Cap- 
tain Ilarkness in particular, and from the world in 
general — that she had allowed her fancy to be 
taken by a man who had passed her over for an- 
other. Even to herself she was careful to say her 
“ fancy ;” even to herself she would not admit that 
her heart had been touched at all. 

It was marvellous how much better she felt ; her 
headache had altogether left her — in reality, from 
the effect of the excitement — and by the time she 
reached home she began to think that, after all, 
she did not care very much about it. 

As she had said to Hartog, some people were 
coming for tea; and a very fair number did come 
— there must have been twenty. Hartog arrived 
in good time, and stayed to the last, though he 


olive’s valentine. 


95 


had not much opportunity of saying anything of a 
private nature to Olive ; he did, however, have a 
chance of asking her if she were going to hear 
Trebelli and Edward Lloyd, in the Gaystown Town- 
hall, the following evening. 

“Oh yes, of course we are,” Olive answered. 
“ Are not you going ?” 

“ To be sure. I shall see you there, then ?” 

“Yes; we sit in the front row.” 

“ I shall do my best to get a seat next yours,” 
he said, with a laugh. 

“I am afraid you won’t be able to do that, for 
we took the only three left on that row,” Olive in- 
formed him. 

“ What a nuisance ! Then I shall sit and look 
murderously at the wretched occupant all the even- 
ing. I hope you will wear an extra pretty dress, 
just to give me a chance of looking pleasant part 
of the time.” 

“ I will,” answered Olive, with quite her old air 
of gayety. 

Now, when the morning dawned it was the Feast 
of St. Yalentine, and when the post-bag reached 
Copplethwaite there were a dozen or so of letters 
addressed to Miss Weyland. There was a grand 
white satin affair from Tom Hotham, the richest 


96 


PLUCK. 


coal -owner in Lancashire, who would long ago 
gladly have taken Olive away from Copplethwaite, 
to spend the proceeds of his black diamond mines 
as she thought most lit. 

•There were other offerings of the same kind, and 
there was one in the sliape of a packet — a small, 
square packet, done up in thick white paper, and 
containing a little case such as jewellers use. 
When Olive opened this she found that it held a 
gold locket, bearing on one side the letter O in 
sapphires ; on the other was cut into the gold a 
monogram of two letters, and the letters were A H. 

For a moment or two the girl’s heart seemed to 
stand still, as if it never would go on any more 
forever. Then, as she began to think more cohe- 
rently, she began to breathe more freely, and her 
heart to beat again with something like regularity. 

After all, she had been a stupid, foolish girl, 
and had borne a very agony of pain without the 
least cause for having any pain whatever. Of 
' course it was true that he was going to be mar- 
ried, it was true that he would announce the name 
as soon as everything was formally settled ; but 
she would be the bride, and it would be her name 
that by-and-by he would disclose to the officers of 
his regiment and to society at large. 


olive’s valentine. 


97 


What a little fool she had ever been to doubt 
him, she said, savagely, to herself; to doubt the 
tenderness, the gentle, kind, protecting air of own- 
ership, all because he had not told his intentions to 
the world ! How could he ? IIow could he plead 
guilty to an engagement before he had even asked 
her ? How intolerably stupid she had been ! She 
ought to have known what he meant by leaving 
the army, the gallant profession which he loved — 
simply because it would be impossible to remain 
in the same regiment with Captain Lucy, who had 
not only been in love with her for years, but who 
had been Ashford Harkness’s greatest friend ! 

But there was a letter just within the lid of the 
case — a letter in the big, careless handwriting 
which made her heart throb just to look at it; and 
the letter said this : 

“I venture to send you an offering for St. Valentine, with 
a hope that in accepting it you will take me also. I shall 
look for you at the concert to-morrow evening; and if you 
wear it, I shall be the happiest man upon earth. 

“Ever yours, A. II.” 

Just the letter she would have expected him to 
write — short, brief, soldierly, and to the point ! No 
idle protestations, no needless compliments, but 

7 


98 


PLUCK. 


straight to the point, as he would send his sword 
to his enemy’s heart. 

Would she wear it? Ay, that she would, not 
only at that evening’s concert, but always ; for was 
not this his first gift? Yes, she would wear it — as 
she would wear his brave and stalwart image in 
her heart — forever ! 

She showed the locket to her mother, not the 
letter at first, though afterwards she changed her 
mind and did. She answered, with a blush and a 
smile, “ Yes,” when Mrs. Weyland asked if she 
meant to wear it. And then Mrs. Weyland kissed 
her fondly, not without a sigh for Lucy and his 
final disappointment. 

All that blessed livelong day did Olive tread, as 
it were, upon air. A dozen times she took her 
precious locket off its chain, that she might see it 
better, kissed it as tenderly as if it had been a liv- 
ing thing, then softly rubbed its brilliant surface 
with the bit of’filmy embroidered cambric which 
did duty as a handkerchief; for kissing is not a 
process calculated to improve the lustre either of 
gold or gems. 

And then in her thrice-blessed and happy heart 
she went over it all again. That was why he had 
gone up to town ; it was to get her valentine. Of 


olive’s valentine. 


99 


course he must have ordered it some time before; 
but then, equally of course, he had wished to see 
for himself that it was all right, and just what he 
desired for his first gift to her — his valentine and 
his future wife ! 

She took infinite pains with her toilet that even- 
ing, and the result was perfection. Her gown was 
of dark-blue velvet; and round the pretty white 
throat, which was one of her greatest attractions, 
was a row of fine pearls, from which hung the 
locket with the sapphire initial. 

They reached the Town-hall just before the con- 
cert began, and were almost immediately followed 
by half a dozen oflicers, who entered in single file, 
and went to their seats with that air of excessive 
modesty never assumed so successfully by any class 
of men as by soldiers. 

First came D’Albiac, most possessed of them 
all, with a smile and a bow for Olive, who said 
“ Little monkey ” to herself ; then Ilarkness, strug- 
gling with an overcoat, a crush hat, a book of 
words, and what was apparently change for half 
a crown, all in coppers; then Lucy, who looked 
with his wisest air at his friend’s struggles ; then 
Miles, who looked carefully at nothing, and evi- 
dently thought everybody was looking at him; 


100 


PLUCK. 


then Hartog, who came with quite tlie dejected air 
of a man at the funeral of some one whom he ex- 
pects has left him a thumping legacy. 

The glorious Trebelli was in her best form that 
night, and sang a pretty, fanciful ballad wdth a 
French refrain : 

“Mon amaut m’aime un pen, beaucoup, 
Passionnement, . . . pas de tout!” ' 

Olive could not help sending a swift, happy 
glance across the room at a face on the raised side 
seats as the rich, deep tones flooded the great hall. 
She met the full gaze of Ilarkness’s eyes, deep, 
tender, full of love ; then she could not help see- 
ing the misery in Lucy’s blue eyes, though they 
were fixed upon the singer, and his air was one of 
listless indifference ; and then she encountered the 
passionate admiration in Hartog’s bluer ones — ad- 
miration so marked that a hot flush overspread her 
cheeks as she turned her head away. 

Nor did she once again even glance towards the 
side seats until the interval of ten minutes be- 
tween the two parts of the concert. Then, indeed, 
there was a rush of half a dozen men for the chair 
which Mr. Weyland had temporarily vacated — 
a rush of Ilarkness, Lucy (I place him second. 


olive’s valentine. 


101 


thongli in truth he was the last of all, and could 
scarcely be said to rush, that not being his form 
exactly), Ilartog, D’Albiac, and two men belong- 
ing to the neighborhood. 

, Ilarkness won, and dropped down by Olive’s 
side with an air of profound relief. 

“How do you do. Miss Weyland? I haven’t 
seen yon for ages !” he remarked, coolly, regard- 
less of the fact that Hartog was bending down to 
speak to her, and looking as black as a thunder- 
cloud the while. 

“ Quite well, thanks. No ; I have not seen you 
for some time, have I ?” looking at him with proud 
and happy eyes. 

“ Did you get many valentines ?” he asked, sud- 
denly. 

“A few; and Mw,” touching the locket at her 
throat. 

“ Oh, that’s very pretty. Would you believe it. 
Miss Weyland, Lucy had seventeen !” 

“Really! And you?” 

“ Only one, and the customary one from Miss 
Mignon,” he added. “ She always sent me one — 
Lucy and Ilartog, and, in fact, nearly all of us. 
Of course we all send her several. Not one of us 
would miss Mignon’s days for anything!” 


102 


PLUCK. 


“ And wliicli are her days ?” 

“ All the festivals — Christmas, New-year, Valen- 
tine’s-day, Easter, Bank Holidays, and all. Oh, I 
beg your pardon, Mrs. Stainer !” as a lady on his 
left addressed him. “ How do you do? Full room 
this evening, is there not?” 

“Very. And how are you. Captain Harkness? 
I hear I am to congratulate you.” 

“Er — thanks, very much,” in a tone as if he did 
not want to hear any more of the matter. 

“ I hope you will be very happy,” the lady con- 
tinued, blandly. 

“Er — thanks, very many,” returned Harkness, 
civilly. 

“And when is it to be?” Mrs. Stainer went 
on. 

Now this, Harkness thought, was going just a 
shade too far in the gratification of what he con- 
sidered to be mere idle curiosity. 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Stamer,” he 
said, politely, “ that is a question I have not yet 
asked myself.” 

“ Oh, really !” returned Mrs. Stamer, feeling very 
much as she might have done had she unexpect- 
edly ran her head against a stone wall. 

It was just as well for her comfort that some 


Ol.IVE S VALENTINE. 


103 


one adcli’essed lier at tliat moment. Ilarkness, 
with a look of annoyance, turned back to Olive. 

“There’s nothing so annoying as inquisitive- 
ness,” he murmured. 

“ Impertinence 1 call it,” said Olive, sharply. 

“Well*, one might almost say so; but I dare say 
she only meant to show a kindly interest” — his 
usual good -humor coming back to him. “But 
are you not going to wish me joy also ?” 

Olive lifted her big eyes with a smile. 

“ Every joy !” she said, in a very low and trem- 
ulous voice; then gave a start. “I — I — beg your 
pardon, Mr. Ilartog; what did you say?” 

Ilartog, who saw the quivering of her lips and 
the sudden deepening of the lovely bloom upon 
her cheeks, replied that he had .only asked her how 
she liked the concert. 

“ Oh, immensely ! And Trebelli is more en- 
chanting than ever!” she replied, with an enthu- 
siasm such as one might e.xpect from a young lady 
whose soul was in Elj'sium. 

“Yes; I think so, too. That Marguerite song 
is charming, and just the thing for St. Valentine. 
By-the-bye, did you get many valentines?” 

“A few” — the bright smiles beaming out again 
instantly; “and very nice ones. Oh, they are be- 


104 


PLUCK. 


ginning again ! What a bore ! Never mind, we 
shall see yon afterwards.” 

But it was only for a minute that any of them 
had a chance of speaking to the Copplethwaite 
people when the concert was over. It was Lncy 
who had the extreme felicity of helpipg Miss 
Weyland into the carriage, he being the nearest 
to her, and the crush very great ; then it rolled 
away out of the circle of light cast by the lights 
of the hall, into the darkness, leaving all the offi- 
cers standing in a group together. 

Olive was supremely happy that night as she 
recalled the soft and gentle look in his eyes, the 
tender tones of his voice, the smile upon his lips, 
as he asked her, “ Will you not wish me joy also ?” 
She felt that life was good, most good. Oh, how 
far, far away seemed the miseries of doubt and 
uncertainty through which she had but just passed! 
IIow good a thing it was to love and to be loved ! 

“He will come to-morrow,” was her last con- 
scious thought that night. 

“ He will come to-day,” her first waking one on 
the morrow. 

How good and fair and lovely was everything! 
The leafless trees had all at once gained a new 
beauty; the feeble winter sun a new glory; the 


olive’s valentine. 


, 105 


dogs barking before the log-fire in the hall were 
more engaging that day than she had ever known 
them ; and the great Angora-brindled cat, which 
made a fiying leap from a tall oak cabinet on to 
her shoulder, rubbed his bushy clieek against his 
misti-ess’s ear with a sleepy “ Three — thrums. . . . 
Three — thrums,” which was music itself. Oh, 
Love is such a mighty power, a great alchemist, 
who turns the wliole woi*ld into purest gold ! 

She had luncheon by herself, for her parents 
had gone to lunch at a house some miles away. 
Not that she minded in the least. She made a 
very decent meal off fricasseed chicken and jelly, 
and then went up-stairs to change her pretty gown 
for a prettier one, in anticipation of his coming. 
Just as she clasped her broad gold collar, from 
which* the sapphire locket hung by a large hook, 
she heard the sound of horses’ hoofs upon the drive 
below. She did not wait an instant, but, snatch- 
ing up her handkerchief, ran down into the hall, 
where she came face to face with — Mr. Hartog. 


106 


PLUCK. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A T C II A F A L A Y A ! 

“To be, or not to be? that is the question.” 

Uamlet. 

“A broken, an empty boat. 

Sea saps it, winds blow apart; 

Sick and adrift and afloat. 

The barren waif of a heart.” 

Satia te Sanguine. 

For a moment the disappointment was almost 
too great for her to speak ; then slie recovered her- 
self, and held out her hand to him. 

“ I am all alone,” she said, with a great assump- 
tion of cheery friendliness. “ My people have gone 
out to lunch. Come into the morning-room.” 

Tlie morning-room was the favorite sitting-room 
at Copplethwaite, and where the ladies of the house 
almost always sat. Ilartog followed her there, and 
closed the door behind them — followed her to the 
hearth, and there startled her by taking both her 
hands in his. 

“Oh, my darling, my darling!” he cried, passion- 


ATCHAFALAYA ! 


107 


ately. “ How shall I thank you — how sliall I ever 
thank you 

“ Thank me?” Olive stammered. 

“ Do you know ” Jie went on, “ that last night I 
did not dare to look at you for an hour or more, 
for fear you should have rejected my valentine 
and me alike; and then, when I saw this” — touch- 
ing the locket — “ my heart began to beat so fast, I 
thouglit I should have died of suffocation!” 

Now, as every one knows, thoughts fly much 
faster than words; and while he was speaking. 
Olive had time to think a good deal — to realize 
that the initials A. H. stood for Anthony Ilartog, 
not for Asliford Ilarkness; to realize that ITark- 
ness had been speaking of some one else when he 
answered Mrs. Stamer’s question, to the effect that 
he had not yet asked the lady to name the wed- 
ding-day ; to realize that Ilarkness was engaged to 
some one else ; to remember that she had sliown 
the locket and the letter to her mother, and had 
said, with all signs of jo}^, that she should wear it 
that evening; to remember that she had worn it, 
and that, in mistaking the giver of it, she had 
made a mistake she would never retrieve to her 
life’s end. 

She remembered, now, that in showing the letter 


108 


PLUCK. 


and locket neither she nor her mother had men- 
tioned a name, both using only the familiar pro- 
noun by which we so often speak of a well-nnder- 
stood person. If she drew back now, her mother 
would know in a moment that she had been mis- 
taken ; and not even her mother must ever know 
it! 

Then, if she drew back now, Hartog would know 
it, too, wlio might even be stung by the knowledge 
into telling Ilarkness liimself, the last in the world 
who must ever know it. No — like one flash of 
lightning did these thoughts all rush through her 
brain — she must abide by the consequences of her 
grievous mistake, be they what they might. It 
was at this point that she all at once frightened 
Ilartog almost out of his seven senses by bursting 
into violent weeping. 

“ My darling, my darling !” he cried, soothingly. 
“Pray don’t cry so; don’t, darling. I know all 
this has upset yon — no wonder ; but you make me 
feel such a brute — you do, indeed.” 

Eventually, Olive drew herself away, and began 
to dry her eyes, saying, meekly, that she was very 
sorry; she hadn’t meant to be stupid ; but — but— 
she couldn’t help it : this last with a wretched lit- 
tle sob, to end the sentence. 


ATCHAFALAYA ! 


109 


At this Ilartog took another tack. 

“You couldn’t help it!” he cried. “Why, yon 
shall cry all day long, if yon like 1” at which Olive 
burst out laughing as unexpectedly and as sudden- 
ly as, two minutes before, she had burst out cry- 
ing. 

“ There, that’s better 1” he exclaimed, admiring- 
ly. “I thought it was something rather new to 
see you like this. You are upset by all this, dar- 
ling — no wonder. I was nearly out of my mind 
with suspense all yesterday. Oh, if you only knew 
the utter relief it was to see my locket resting on 
your pretty white neck 1” 

“I thought you said just now that it nearly suf- 
focated yon,” Olive objected. She had found her 
voice at last, and made an immense effort to ap- 
pear natural and at ease. 

“ So it did ; but it was with joy. Why, I very 
nearly jumped over the people in front of me to 
give you a kiss there and then ! And, by-the-bye, 
Olive, you’ll give me one now, won’t you?” 

So Olive did — at least she submitted in a pas- 
sive, unresisting way to be kissed by him j and in 
his bliss Ilartog never noticed it. 

“And you like your locket?” he asked, after a 
while. 


no 


PLUCK. 


“Immensely!” answered she; which was true 
enough, poor little soul. 

“ I have brought you a ring — not quite to match 
it, but still with sapphires,” he went on. “ You 
will let me put it on your linger, Olive?” 

“ Oh yes !” she said ; but all at once she began 
to feel faint and sick. 

It was a lovely ring, as she admitted when she 
saw it— a large half-hoop, of three diamonds and 
two sapphires : the diamonds very white and full 
of fire; the sapphires of the true “lucky” blue. 

“ It is a beautiful ring,” she said, holding it be- 
tween finger and thumb. 

“ Let me put it on.” Then he took it from her, 
and slipped it on to the right finger. “ I hope it 
fits well. I have heard it is unlucky to have them 
altered ; and we must have no ill-luck, must we?” 

“ I think it is all right,” she said, feeling very 
much as if a policeiiian had slipped a pair of hand- 
cufi^s over her wrists. 

“You are not well,” he said, looking at her anx- 
iously. “ I hope you did not take cold when com- 
ing out of that hot room last night ?” 

“ Oh no ; I am well. I ail nothing,” carelessly. 

“ I’m afraid you’ve taken cold. I hope not. 
And how does it fit? Oh, a little large. Well, 


ATCHAFALAYA ! 


Ill 


tliat will leave room for your fingers to grow, eh ? 
Do you know, darling, I can hardly believe my 
good-luck yet. We won’t stay in the regiment, 
eh? You don’t care about it, do you? It’s real- 
ly very stupid, and you do get so sick and weary 
of continually moving about. Besides, what is all 
very well for a bachelor, becomes quite another 
thing when one’s got a wife to take about; for one 
gets mixed up with all sorts of queer people.” 

“ You have got mixed up with me ?” 

“That is different; just t?he difference between 
a horrid bore and the most blessed piece of good- 
fortune that ever befell me. But you won’t care 
for me to stay in the Service, will you ? I am so 
tired of it! We will go abroad, and see a little-of 
other countries. You would like that, wouldn’t 
you ?” 

“ I did not like it when we were abroad before,” 
she answered, blushing hotly as she remembered 
why she was so anxious to come home. “But it 
will be different now, you know,” she added, hasti- 
ly, lest he should make a wild but accurate guess 
at the truth. 

“Yes, of course; and we can soon come home 
again if you don’t like it.” 

“I did rather like it at first, only I got so tired 


112 


PLUCK. 


of every tiling foreign. I hated foreign ways; the 
horrid bare houses ; the horrid oily, greasy cook- 
ing; the horrid jabber, jabber — aye, aye, aye — that 
went on all day long, and all night, too.” 

Hartog laughed aloud. “ I’m glad you’re such 
a thorough Englishwoman. I can’t help wonder- 
ing sometimes how it is Englishmen bring them- 
selves to marry Frenchwomen.” 

“ Or Englishwomen ! Fancy marrying an out- 
rageously broad-shouldered Frenchman, all pad 
and wadding ; or a horrid Italian, all temper and 
melodrama ; or — or anything not English !” 

“You should have said anything not Hartog,” 
he said, smiling. 

• Olive positively shuddered. As a friend she 
had liked him so much that in his society she was 
at times almost able to forget Ilarkness ; as a lover 
he was insupportable, even to loathing. 

“What changes there will be in the old regi- 
ment !” he went on, presently. “ When Booties 
left, it seemed to smash up everything. But 
you’ve heard all about him, of course. Then the 
colonel leaves at the end of the year — and a good 
thing, too, for those who are staying, for he’s rath- 
er a duffer — and Harkness leaves almost directly. 
He, you know, is going to be married, too.” 


ATCHAFALAYA ! 


U3 


“ Yes,” she managed to say. 

“I’m awfully glad about it, for Harkness is one 
of the best fellows out : do anything for any one, 
and always ready to help a lame dog over a stile. 
Besides, he has been in love with the girl forever ; 
and she’s so pretty ! Eeally, Olive, after you, I 
think she’s the prettiest woman I ever saw.” 

“And he has been in love with her forever?” 

“ Yes ; ever since they were big boy and little girl 
together. Harkness was not well off then, and her 
people objected to him ; not only objected, but 
forced the poor girl at seventeen into a marriage 
with a man she hated. Poor old Ashford, I quite 
thought he would have gone mad at the time, 
which was just when I entered the Service. He 
and I were old friends — for our people were neigh- 
bors, and I was his fag at Eton — so I knew more 
than any one else about it. Well, about six months 
ago the husband died, and then, of course, he lost 
no time in making up to her; and, by Jove, she’s 
prettier than ever, and looks lovely in her weeds. 
She’s only about five-and-twenty now, and is as 
rich as Croesus.” 

“•I hope they will be happy at last,” Olive said, 
closing her eyes, lest the tears which filled them 
should fall and betray her. 

8 


114 


PLUCK. 


How she did wish he would go away and let 
her have the rest of the day to herself, to think it 
all over — the mistake, the trap into which she had 
fallen, and what would be the consequences there- 
•of. She felt just as a wretched little bird must feel 
when the meshes of the fowler close over it, and 
there is no prospect of freedom, never forever, ex- 
cept the narrow liberty of a cage — a cage still, 
even though the wires might be well gilded. Oh, 
was there no escape? lie was all veiy well to talk 
with a little, to dance with, even to flirt with, if 
the flirtation meant nothing but harmless fun ; but 
to marry? Well, he might have been well enough 
to marry, if she had not wanted to mari’y Ilark- 
ness. Then she remembered that Harkiiess did 
not want to marry her, or any one else but the 
woman who had loved him, as* he had loved her, 
when they were boy and girl together. No ; there 
was no escape ! She must either marry Anthony 
Ilartog, or let the whole world know — her world, 
that is — tliat she had given her love where it was 
neither valued nor returned. Thinking of what 
that implied, Olive Weyland said within herself 
that she would die flrst. 

It seemed to her the very longest day she had 
ever known. There was a great fuss when her fa- 


ATCHAFALAYA ! 


115 


ther and mother came home, for Ilartog asked 
Mr. Weyland for his consent there and then. And 
then there was a great deal of kissing and joking, 
sncli as made Olive’s very soul sick. There was an 
extra-merry dinner, to whicli Ilartog stayed with- 
out ceremony; and then a long evening, practical- 
ly spent alone with her — lover; for Mr. Weyland 
went off to sleep in a chair beside the hall fire, 
and his wife sat near, at a large round table of 
black Bombay wood, writing to tell her sister the 
last news about Olive; and Olive and Hartog, af- 
ter strolling in and out, looking at the Graphic 
and the Punch upon the larger table by the door, 
settled down at last on the sofa in the cosey little 
morning -room — an arrangement which, though 
the door was wide open, and Mrs. Weyland could 
speak to them from where she sat, made them in 
reality alone. 

I can hardly tell how wildly Olive longed for 
the time of Hartog’s departure, to be released from 
the strain which she had endured since his arrival. 
But Ilartog never stirred until a prodigious yawn 
from Mr. Weyland warned him how time was fly- 
ing ; and. then Olive was free to go to her room, 
and, if she liked, to cry her very eyes out. But, as 
a matter of course, she did not shed a single tear. 


116 


PLUCK. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PLUCK ! 

“O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!” 

Henry IV. 

“Land me, she saj’^s, where love 
Shows but one shaft, one dove, 

One heart, one hand. 

A shore like that, my dear. 

Lies where no man will steer, 

No maiden land.” 

Love at Sea. 

It was a rather remarkable thing that Olive had 
been so thoroughly deceived by the handwriting 
of the note which she had received with the locket 
of the sapphire initial. But, as a matter of fact, 
it was well known in the regiment that Harkness 
and Ilartog wrote very much alike, as is not unu- 
sual among men of the same class who have been 
educated at the same schools. 

Nobody at Copplethwaite was really familiar 
with the caligraphy of either, only short notes, in 
answer to invitations, having come under the notice 
of any of the members of that household. Those 


PLUCK ! 


117 


which had come from Harkness, Olive had been 
careful to read ; but when her mother remarked, 
“ Mr, Hai’tog accepts for the fifth, Olive,” or “ My 
dear, Mr. Hartog has an engagement for Tues- 
day,” she had been content to accept the fact, 
without satisfying herself by the seeing of the eye 
that it really was so. 

It seemed an incredible circumstance that she 
could impart, and her mother receive, news of such 
importance without the mention of a name, and 
that she should be speaking of one man, and her 
mother of another, and the difference remain un- 
corrected ; yet so it was, and now, be the conse- 
quences what they would, she would abide by her 
mistake. 

Hartog discovered nothing. 

Some lovers are abject, willing to be trodden 
under the feet of their fair mistresses; but Hartog 
was not of that order. Quite the contrary, indeed ; 
for he was imperious to a degree, continually bid- 
ding Olive, “ Come here,” or “ Do that,” or “ Don’t 
go there,” and adding on a “darling,” or a “please 
me,” at the end, like a spoonful of jam after a 
powder, and always having his own way, because 
Olive was too sick at heart to offer any opposition. 

But he discovered nothing ; and, in truth, he 


118 


PLUCK. 


was too fully occupied in making fierce, passionate 
love to her, to see that she merely submitted to 
and never reciprocated his affection in any way. 

Other folk saw clearly enough that something 
was grievouslj’’ wrong — that Olive each day looked 
more spiritless and ill. He noticed, of course, that 
she was not looking well ; but he put it down to 
her illness of the autumn and the severity of the 
winter, and never suspected for a moment that her 
altered appearance was due to mind instead of 
body. 

He announced his engagement immediately to 
his brother officers, causing thereby no particular 
surprise, except to Lucy, who had not expected 
such news, but who, nevertheless, pulled himself to- 
gether, like the brave and gallant gentleman he 
was, and wished his comrade joy. But oli, when 
at length he saw her — when he saw the poor pale 
face from which the delicate peach-bloom tints of 
old had all vanished ; when he saw the downward 
droop of the once arch and smiling mouth ; the 
mournful look in the black-fringed gray eyes — oh, 
when he saw all that, what a fierce hatred for 
Hartog leaped up in his heart, and made him feel 
for a moment like a murderer! 

Her own people were not alarmed. Olive, they 


PLUCK ! 


119 


said, had never been really herself since that dread- 
ful illness in Scotland; and, as every one knows, 
marrying and giving in marriage is an anxious 
business. After it was all over — comfortably over, 
was the expression Mrs. Weyland used in speaking 
of the matter to Mrs. Arkwright, little dreaming 
what a mockery such a word was in connection 
with such a marriage — Mr. Ilartog meant to take 
her abroad, and a long tour in Italy and Switzer- 
land would make her quite herself again. 

But Edith Arkwright saw more clearly between 
the lines than either Murray Weyland or his wife. 
She knew — by that strange instinct which some- 
times makes men and women dive straight to the 
very heart of a mj^stery — that it was neither ill- 
ness nor the fuss of the approaching wedding*' 
which had blanched Olive’s cheeks of their lovely 
color, brought that pai])ed look into her oyes, or 
that piteous curve to her lips. 

“ The poor child is breaking her heart !” she 
cried, indignantly, to her brother. “ And serious- 
ly, Cecil — although 1 don’t want to say anything 
disagreeable to you — I never saw a sign of any- 
thing wrong with her before you and she had that 
disagreement, about Christmas.”, 

“ I tell you she wref used me point-blank,” re- 


120 


PLUCK. 


turned Lucy, who seldom kept a secret from his 
sister. 

“ Oh, nonsense ! Why should she refuse you 

“ But she did, point-blank ; thewre was no mis- 
take about it.” 

“ You should have asked her again.” 

“ So I should have done if thewre had been the 
vewry smallest chance of her saying yes. I tell 
you, Edith, she not only wrefused me, but she 
wregularly wrounded on me for not having asked 
her before — to use her own expwressioii — it was 
too late !” 

“ 1 tell you, Cecil, she is breaking her heart. 
If they go on with it, and marry her to Hartog, 
she will die, and die soon !”. 

“ Ilartog won’t give her up.” 

“Wretch!” cried Mrs. Arkwright, as reasonably 
as is the manner of women. 

“ As a matter of fact, he is nothing of the sort,” 
Lucy objected. “ Hartog is one of the best fel- 
lows out. I wonder she is not madly in love with 
him. I think you are making a gwreat mistake, 
and that she is only worwried by all the pwrepa- 
wrations. It is to be a vewry gwrand wedding, 
is it not ?” 

Mrs. Arkwright tingled all over with rage ; she 


pluck! 


121 


would have liked Lucy to show a little more dis- 
tress — which was not his “ form ” at all — but she 
never even guessed at the depth of agony which 
he hid with every drawling word. 

“ Oh, very grand 1” she said, tartly. “ I suppose 
you mean to go ?” 

“Pewrhaps I may,” he answered. “ Hartog told 
me this morning that Mignon Gilchwrist — Fer- 
wrers’s little girl, you know — is coming to be one 
of the bwridesmaids.” 

“ How does Olive know her ?” 

“She does not; it is Hartog’s wish. She is to 
stay with Mrs. Gwray.” 

Shortly after this he went back to Gaystown, 
leaving Mrs. Arkwright almost beside herself with 
anger. - 

“ I don’t believe he cares — I don’t believe he is 
capable of caring I” she cried to big Tom Ark- 
wright. 

“Then why worry yourself about it?” he asked. 
“ A very good thing if he doesn’t, considering that 
Olive is to become Mrs. Hartog on Tliursday.” 

“ And breaking her heart for Cecil 1” Mrs. Ark- 
wright burst out. ^ 

“ Oh, nonsense ! She had the chance of him, 
if she had wanted him.” 

I 


122 


PLUCK. 


At winch Mrs. Arkwright went out of the room 
in a storm of rage, feeling it was as useless to ti-y 
to get sense out of Tom as it was to get sense 
into Cecil. 

It was then Monday. On Tuesday Lucy called 
at Copplethwaite, but was told that the ladies had 
gone to Gaystown early in the day, and might not 
be back till late in the evening. 

He knew what that meant — dress-makers. No 
use to seek about Gaystown after them. So he 
left his wedding -gift. And oh, dear Heave!) ! 
what a mockeiy it was for him to give a wed- 
ding-gift to Olive Weyland, who in a few’ hours 
would be Olive llartog, and who w^as breaking 
her heart, he knew not wdiy ! And then he went 
hack to his quarters alone, going presently to 
mess with a smile on his handsome face, and the 
latest joke about Mignon on his smooth, drawding 
tongue. 

“ ‘ Mignon,’ I said, as soon as I could get my 
hwreath, after as lively a specimen of the — er— 
gai’-wrote as 3^01! could wreasonably expect fwu'om 
a delicate little amatu-ah like her, ‘ how — er — 
much have you — er — gwrowm V 

Oh, dear Lai,’ said Mignon, ‘ not quite an inch 
— not nearly enough to bo marwried !’” 


PLUCK ! 


123 


Was it any wonder that neither Uartog nor any 
one else made even the wildest guess at the world 
of angnish this man was suffering? No; no more 
than any one guessed that Olive, could she have 
had' her way, would have had a bridegroom who 
would be neither Hartog nor Lucy, but one Ash-, 
ford Ilarkness, who so short a time ago announced 
his engagement to the beautiful widow who had 
loved him, as he had loved her, when they were 
boy and girl together. 

Two more days passed by, and, on the day pre- 
vious to that of the wedding, Lucy took a sudden 
resolve to go over to Copplethwaite and put the 
question which Edith Arkwright had raised in his 
mind straight and fair to Olive. 

“ Yes, Miss Weyland is at home,” the servant in- 
formed him; and then he was shown into the pret- 
ty morning-room, wliere Olive was sitting alone. 

She rose rather confusedly and came to meet 
him. 

“ I came,” he began, abruptly, moved almost be- 
yond control of himself by the great change in 
her, “ because Edith tells me she is sure you arc 
not happy in your appwroaching marwriage.” 

Olive allowed lier hands to lie passively in his, 
but she did not speak nor look at him. 


124 


PLUCif. 


“ And Edith persists,” he continued, in very gen- 
tle tones, “ that it is partly, or wrather altogether, 
my fault. Is that tvvrne, Olive, my dear?” 

“ It is too late now,” she said, mournfully — “ it 
is too late for anything.” 

“ But if you love me — ” he cried, eagerly, mis- 
taking her meaning. 

For a moment she was tempted, more sorely 
tempted than she had ever been in all her life, to 
hide the truth to the last ; then pluck, true Eng- 
lish pluck, won the day, and she spoke. 

“ Captain Lucy,” she said, “ believe me when I 
tell you that I have never cared for you in that 
way. I — I — made a mistake — a great mistake, 
and I have sacrificed all my life to hide it from 
the world.” And then briefly, yet sparing herself 
not at all, she told him the truth : “ My people do 
not know, and he least of all. I meant,” with a 
sad smile, “ to hide it, even if it cost my life ; but 
I have no right to ruin the rest of yours, by leav- 
ing you to believe as Edith does. It would be a 
sin little, if anything, short of murder.” 

Lucy stood silent, dumb with surprise ; then all 
at once he realized what the telling of such a story 
must have cost her ; he recognized the true, stead- 


pluck! 


125 


fast lieart and the brave spirit whicli dwelt within 
her — a pluck greater far than his own. 

“Yonr secwret shall be safe,” he said, siinplj^, 
“ and I shall honor you to my life’s end as the no- 
blest woman who ever lived.” 

***** -X- 

’ “ Oh, Lai !” cried Mignon, a few hours after the 

joy-bells for Olive’s wedding had ceased to ring. 
“ Such a pity you didn’t go ; it was lovely I” heav- 
ing a sigh of supreme satisfaction as she gazed at 
the beautiful brooch of pearls and diamonds which 
had been the bridegroom’s gift; at the beautiful 
bouquet of snowdrops given by the best man ; and 
at the goodly box of bonbons and nougatines gath- 
ered off the breakfast-table by the father of the 
bride for the little lady who had won all hearts at 
Coppletliwaite, as she had won all hearts in the 
Scarlet Lancers six years before. “I did nothing 
all the way home but be sorry you had missed 
it.” 

“ And you forgot poor Lai while you wewre 
thewre,” said Lucy, reproachfully. 

Mignon twined her arm tightly round his neck, 
and pressed her golden head against his cheek. 

“ No, Lai ; I didn’t indeed,” she cried, earnestly. 


126 


PLUCK. 


“ See” — diving eagerly into the pocket of her pret- 
ty bridesmaid’s frock — “ see, I brought you this !” 

She thrust something wrapped in a white paper 
into his hand. Lucy opened it, and found it was 
a piece of Olive Ilartog’s wedding-cake. 


THE END. 


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